


we are all going forward. none of us are going back.

by strifeyy



Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Gen, M/M, Mad Burnish (Promare), Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Recovery, Roommates, Sharing a Bed, Slice of Life, Slow Build, Trans Character, neurodivergent character, past trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:02:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 50,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25344382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strifeyy/pseuds/strifeyy
Summary: “Dear Forgiveness, you know that recentlywe have had our difficulties and there are many thingsI want to ask you.”Galo and Lio and the rest of the world attempt to recover from an almost apocalypse and rebuild themselves, whoever that happens to be.
Relationships: Lio Fotia & Gueira, Lio Fotia & Gueira & Meis, Lio Fotia & Meis, Lio Fotia/Galo Thymos
Comments: 82
Kudos: 182





	1. tell me you’re not miserable

**Author's Note:**

> "Imagine that the world is made out of love. Now imagine that it isn’t. Imagine a story where everything goes wrong, where everyone has their back against the wall, where everyone is in pain and acting selfishly because if they don’t, they’ll die. Imagine a story, not of good against evil, but of need against need against need, where everyone is at cross-purposes and everyone is to blame." - richard siken
> 
> HI GUYS  
> i'm a dingbat and i love writing slice of life and processing trauma. post canon promare is ripe for it. i don't know if this will be chronological or fancy or WHAT because i'm famously bad at long fics. we'll see what my brain holds on to

Everything is quiet. There's nothing to see even if his eyes were open. He can only feel cold, cold, impossibly cold; the air in his lungs is ice-sharp and immobile, unable to cloud from his mouth with the sheer amount of _cold_ around him. There's no room for breathing. The once-familiar give of his ribs, the push-pull of oxygen, just tightens the crushing weight around him. He lets out a snow of a breath, and he can't replace it. 

Fire screams in his chest, in his mind. It's a rage, chaotic thundering over the rhythmic thrum of blood in his ears. He wants to burn, raze the whole fucking world to the ground, but nothing happens. He stays still, frozen. The match doesn't spark. 

There's nothing he can do. He's going to die here. 

Burn. 

Burn. 

_Burn._

His eyes open. 

Lio wakes up and knows instinctively, groggily, that he isn't supposed to be awake right now. It's dark. He struggles to focus his eyes between sleep and shadow, and sits up. 

His heartbeat thuds against his chest like it wants to get out. He is overly aware of the cold sweat clinging to his clothes, sticking them too close to his skin, trying to keep him from unraveling, unhinging. Lio takes a breath, lets it out, and it doesn't fog the air in front of him, doesn't constrict or crumple. 

His eyes adjust out of the dream. He's in Galo's apartment. He's on Galo's couch. There are blankets puddled in his lap, plain and plaid. Creeping past the blinds, moonlight reflects off the TV, off the couple of framed photos hung on the wall. It mutes color, bathing the small apartment in some vague approximation of dark blue. 

Lio sighs, pushes his palms against his eyes. Beyond the muffled din of the city outside trying to pull itself together even now, the air is still and quiet. No fire, no promare begging to burn. There's an almost laziness to the nothing of it, cosmic disinterest. He can collect himself, or he can fall apart; it doesn't matter. 

He isn't going to fall apart. 

Stubborn, Lio lies back down with more force than necessary. He jams his eyes shut, pulls the blankets up to his throat. He needs to sleep, so he will. He needs to rest if he wants to help, wants to make change, wants to heal with the rest of the world. 

Memories of cold creep up, threatening to overwhelm again. He shivers under the blankets. Lio drags in a breath and pushes it out, fingers curled into fists at his sides. He's _fine._ It's been weeks since almost freezing to death with a bullet between his ribs. 

He needs to sleep. 

Lio forces himself to relax, shoving tension out of his muscles. He's fine. He can sleep. He has been sleeping on Galo's couch or in the Burning Rescue bunks for maybe a month and a half. Not in a cave, not in a desert, not under overpasses or in tents or in a prison. 

He _needs_ to sleep. 

He has been exhausted. Even now, fatigue sits heavily on his limbs, weighty and inescapable. When he does manage to sleep, it is short and restless. He spends long days on paperwork and computer screens; trying to help his people is burning ulcers into his stomach, navigating bureaucracy and ingrained discrimination next to impossible. There are no promare to help him recover. 

He needs to _sleep._

Lio half snarls, kicks the sheets off of himself. What the _fuck_ is he doing. He sits back up, frustration shivering down his spine. 

He's about to stand up when something creaks. 

Lio's attention snaps to the right. His muscles feel primed, to bolt or attack. The door to Galo's room moves almost imperceptively then opens slowly in the dark. 

Galo sneaks out, leaves the bedroom door open behind him. He is uncharacteristically quiet. His mohawk is messy with sleep. He doesn't have a shirt, only dressed with a baggy pair of sweatpants low on his hips. Frozen in place, Lio watches as Galo stalks into the small kitchen, peels open the fridge, and stands in the door, framed in bright light. 

Galo doesn't move. 

Lio stares. Is Galo sleepwalking? Looking for a midnight snack to deal with his ridiculous appetite? What the fuck. 

"Galo, what are you-" 

"Oh my _God_ , what the fuck who's there!" Galo yelps, snapping out of whatever odd trance he fell into and slamming the fridge door shut. He whips around. " _Lio_. what are you doing!" 

"What am I doing?" Lio echoes in disbelief. "What are you doing?" 

"I'm-!" Galo breaks himself off with a deep scowl. He crosses his arms across his chest. He doesn't continue. 

Lio stands up, his unraveled urgency from earlier dampened with confusion. He copies Galo's pose. "You're?" 

"Cooling off," Galo grumbles reluctantly after a moment. 

"It's not hot in here." 

"Emotionally, Lio." 

"In the fridge," says Lio. 

Galo makes a noise. "Look, man, I'm doing my best. I can't just fuck off to the lake this late. Or early. I don't know." 

Lio blinks. He scrubs his eyes with his palms roughly, sits back down. "Sorry. You can go back to cooling off," he says. 

"I didn't mean to wake you up." 

"I was already awake." 

"Couldn't sleep?" 

Lio lets out a wry laugh, humorless. "Something like that." 

Footsteps sound off to his right; Lio turns his head to Galo padding over before he sits down next to him. Galo sort of hunches. He pushes a hand through his mohawk, mussing it up further. He leans forward, digs elbows into his thighs, one leg bouncing slightly. The medical sleeve on his left arm catches faintly in the moonlight. With all the shadows on Galo's face, he looks almost- tired. Worn down. Exhausted. 

"Want to talk about it?" Galo says finally. 

"It was just a nightmare." 

"I had one too." 

Lio glances at him. It might not be a trick of the light; Galo does look exhausted. Of course he is. Why wouldn't he be? The world ended. There's a tension in his shoulders that isn't usually there. That overwhelming brightness that Galo usually beams out, bright enough for headaches on occasion, just isn't there. The darkness makes his expression hard to read, but exhaustion peeks through the cracks. 

"I try not to think about it a lot," Galo says, looking at his hands. "Thinking's not really my style."

It's half a joke but Lio doesn't laugh. He holds himself very still, muscles tensed enough to ache to keep himself from shivering. "You're not an idiot," he says quietly. 

Galo shrugs. He leans back into the couch, still bouncing his leg. "If I was smarter, none of this would've happened." 

"You would've singlehandedly taken down Kray and his empire?" Lio prompts dryly. 

A muscle in Galo's jaw visibly tightens. "Yeah." 

"It's not your fault, Galo." 

Galo's jaw sets and he jams his palms against his eyes. His leg fidgets furiously. 

"We got everyone out. We're rebuilding. We'll be okay," Lio hears himself say, a baseless hope he forces himself to think through all of this. "We're doing all we can." 

With a noise like a groan, Galo yanks a pillow free and squashes it against his face. Lio watches, not quite sure what he's doing, until muffled yells make their way through. 

Right. Cooling off. 

Lio has done enough cooling off for a lifetime. He just wants to stop this stupid shaking, but it feels bone deep. Not much he can do. 

Galo's screaming stops for a moment. He lifts the pillow, audibly gasps in for air, then jams it back down his face. Lio holds back a snort. 

They're quite a pair, Lio thinks sarcastically. Maybe they linked once, an inexplicable, incomprehensible blending of selves to stop _everything_ , but- 

They aren't now. It was moments, minutes, maybe. He might have felt everything Galo had ever felt, held his wants and hopes and pain in his own mind and considered them _ours_ , but that isn't now. He doesn't know what Galo wants, or needs, or thinks. Lio is an arsonist, a terrorist, an enemy-turned-maybe-friend who sleeps on Galo's couch because he has nothing to his name and the city has not yet set up temporary housing for the Burnish beyond some hotel rooms. 

Lio can live with that. 

"It just makes me so fucking- _angry_ ," says Galo tightly, pillow moved down to his chest at some point. His eyes are closed, jaw clenched. 

"Like you could burn from it?" 

"Exactly." 

"I understand." 

"Sorry for being such a bummer," Galo says. He opens his eyes, looks at Lio. 

"You're not," Lio says. 

Galo looks at him, squinting. 

Lio leans away, crosses his arms over his chest again. "What," he says, cagey. 

"Are you shaking?" asks Galo. 

"No." The word comes out too fast. 

"Man, you just should've told me! I have more blankets! Come on, help me grab 'em." Galo slaps his thighs, stands up. 

"Galo-" 

"Let me do something to help, okay?" 

Lio stops, scowls. Galo stares back at him, undeterred. Bits of his mohawk fall in his face. Finally, Lio turns his head, stands up. Letting go of the held tension in his body doesn't stop the all-over ache; trembling at full force now, his muscles burn at the effort. His teeth chatter until he clacks them together. 

"Okay, dude, come on," Galo says with a gesture, anger and anguish seemingly vanished. The fatigue on his face is gone, well masked. 

"Fine," Lio grits out, tailing behind to Galo's bedroom. 

"You were basically on fire for like, what, a decade? I'd be surprised if you weren't cold!" 

"It hadn't crossed my mind." 

Galo flicks on the light; Lio squeezes his eyes shut against the offending brightness, listens to Galo still moving around until he dares squinting open. Galo is half in the closet, opposite to the bed. He drops a few things to the floor, mumbling to himself. Taking the quiet to look around, Lio sits down on the bed. 

Galo's room, like his apartment, is cluttered but organized. He has a lot of things, knickknacks and junk and tidal waves of paperwork, but everything has its space. It's still surprising, even now. Galo seems so scattered it is hard to picture him organized despite seeing it in front of him. 

He recognizes posters of bands Galo has talked about, notes stacks of thick books likely about emergency responses or the history of firefighting. A hamper with clothes thrown haphazardly next to it, only a few made successfully inside. The bed under Lio is a curious mix of big-small: not medium, definitely not a big bed, something small and cheap enough for Galo to afford, but still bigger than any bed Lio can remember sleeping on. 

Anger burns up his throat, threatening hot coals on his tongue. Lio bites it down, furious. 

A Burning Rescue sweatshirt hangs over the back of the chair by Galo's desk. Vindictive, Lio snatches it up, shrugs it on over the plain tee he has on - an old one of Galo's, too small for him but passable for Lio. 

"I have a bunch of those," Galo says, half obscured behind a large plastic rectangle. He drops it onto the bed behind Lio. "You can keep it. I don't mind." 

"Thanks," Lio says, trying not to sound too bitter. 

"I’ve got a few more blankets in here. Take your pick," says Galo, fumbling a zipper around the entire thing. 

The top lifts up in a flap. Inside, there are a number of throws, most of them plaid patterned or emblazoned with a Burning Rescue logo. Lio lifts one out cautiously, a red plaid thing with white on the other side. It's soft. It isn't scratchy and threadbare and holey. 

"This one is fine. Thanks," says Lio. 

"Lio, dude," Galo says, incredulous. "You got my jacket on and you're still shaking. Take, like, at least two for my sake." 

"I'll be fine." 

"D'you wanna sleep in here? It's a little warmer than the couch. I'm cool sharing." 

"I'm fine," Lio repeats.

"You can have it yourself then. I'll take the couch," Galo offers. 

"Galo, I'm fine." 

That tired look breaks through for a moment. Galo bricks it up just as quickly. "If you wanna be stubborn, fine." 

Lio searches his face slowly, carefully, but Galo gives nothing away. "You're not sleeping on the couch in your own apartment." 

"I crash there all the time. You've seen me." 

Right. "I have a lot of nightmares. I'd just wake you up." 

"Whatever you want's fine, Lio." 

Lio looks at him helplessly. Galo sort of laughs, and the grin on his face is unreadable. 

“I'll be honest, okay. I sleep better when there's other people around. I used to sleep in the bunks more than I did here. I sleep like shit these days. Just lay here with me for a few minutes. If I'm too annoying or you hate it, you can go back to the couch." 

Galo's expression is simple and genuine, infuriatingly sincere. He has bedhead and sleep in his eyes. A soft, sad sort of smile curls up the corners of his mouth. 

Eyes burning, Lio tries to return the smile. "You idiot," he says. "Fine. I'll stay." 

"Really?" Galo lights up. "Awesome!" 

"I'm too tired to argue," Lio says. 

"Lemme grab the light and put this away, you get comfy!" 

Galo zips the blanket container back shut and hoists it up. Lio sets to straightening up one side of the bed; Galo's sheets are untucked and tangled, like he sleeps restlessly. Grabbing the new blanket from the side of the bed, Lio lays down and nestles in. He stays as close to the side as possible. The bed is not very big, and Galo has significantly more mass than him. 

After wrestling the closet shut, Galo pads over to his door and flicks off the light. Lio blinks to readjust to the darkness. Galo's form silhouettes, then clarifies into dark blue, details muddled. Muted moon and city light glow cooly in the window, slivers through heavy dark curtains. Showing no sign of hesitation, Galo climbs into bed next to him and flops on his stomach. Cheek pressed into the pillow, Galo looks at him. 

"Thanks for staying with me," Galo says. 

"I should be thanking you," says Lio quietly. 

"It's the least I could do. We saved the world together. That counts for something, right?" 


	2. i’m hungry and hollow and just want something to call my own

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sleep is sleep. the morning after, there are things to be done. lio spends some time with friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi i'm back again  
> watched promare for the 5th? time the other day & i legitimately still have no idea how i feel about it. an inexplicable movie. yeah i'm gonna write dumb shit about it

The coffee pot hisses and whirs trying to fill itself up. A thin trail of steam curls out of the top. The faint sound of the shower running behind him fills up the rest of the space. Sitting on a stool with sunlight dripping in the small kitchen window, Lio decides mornings are too early. 

He's awake, of course. He couldn't go back to sleep if he tried. But his eyes feel heavy, so he keeps them shut, head propped up with a palm on his cheek and an elbow on the counter. He tucks his feet up on a high rung because it's more comfortable than putting them on the floor. Galo's sweatshirt still hangs off his shoulders. 

Mornings were easier when he didn't sleep, Lio muses. He could get away with it before. He didn't sleep much on the run, and when he did, it was short, quick bursts with someone else on watch. None of this disorienting, hours-long shutdowns. He did sleep for almost two days after- 

Well. 

Lio shifts his weight slightly, adjusts his hand on his cheek to a new spot not deadened by the pressure. 

After days of digging through ash and rubble and metal. After days of struggling to free survivors from the shell of the Parnassus, to the point where finding someone missing a limb or two was almost a blessing because they were just that little bit easier to get out of the pods. Nonstop, no breaks, because what the fuck would a break _mean_ to his people waiting to die in darkness? Lio can't remember how long it took. It's a blur beyond sensation and emotion: sheer, overwhelming guilt and terror muddled together with a marrow-deep ache and hands nearly shredded raw, people crying, sobbing, begging-

The coffee pot dings. 

Lio startles, flinches to his feet. Something crashes behind him and it's the stool, kicked over on accident - on purpose? - and Lio stands there, breath sharp in his mouth. 

Nothing happens. The stool lays where it fell. The coffee pot chugs a last mechanical sound before the light on the bottom goes from red to green. 

The world doesn't collapse around him. 

Lio leans heavily back against the counter, drags his hands over his face. He's useless, jumping at every little thing. Hardly a leader. He lets himself breathe for a moment while something unknots in his chest.

He's fine. 

The sound of the shower stops with a muffled groan-whine of the pipes. Galo will be ready to leave soon. He doesn't take long. 

Lio pours two to-go mugs full of coffee and replaces the pot. He grabs flavored creamer from the fridge, tips it into one of the thermoses, and puts it away. Cradling his mug in his hands, Lio retakes his perch on the stool. He doesn't know he feels about coffee, taking a sip. There's a bitterness to it that isn't exactly pleasant. The warmth in his hands is a poor approximation of fire, but it gives him something to focus on outside of his head. 

A familiar scent signals Galo's arrival before Lio hears or sees him. Lio doesn't know what it is either, some hair or body product he must use. It's sort of earthy, maybe citrusy. He turns his head enough to watch Galo approach in his periphery. 

"Oh, thank God you made coffee," Galo says breathlessly, patting Lio on the back as he passes him. 

"You need more coffee grounds," says Lio. 

"Add it to the list! We need to hit the store. Oh my God, did you put creamer in mine?" 

Galo is beaming at him for some reason. Lio furrows his brow. 

"Yes? That's how you make it," Lio says. 

"I know!" Galo exclaims, still grinning. 

"It's too early for this. How are you a morning person." 

Galo laughs. He leans against the counter in front of the coffee pot, casual and easy with legs crossed at the ankles. "I get to go to work. That's awesome," he says. 

"Right," Lio says. 

"D'you need a ride anywhere? Did you tell me where you were going today?" Galo gives a guilty grimace. "I feel like you did. Is it a document drive? Is that even a thing..." 

Lio puffs air out of his nose, fond. "I'm going with Guiera and Meis to a few of the hotels with donations. We're hoping to get signatures for a few things as well. Documents are later this week." 

"I knew there was something with documents at some point," says Galo, half to himself. "Are they swinging by?" 

"Yeah, in a few. I have to get dressed." 

"Awesome!" 

Swiftly, Galo downs a large mouthful of coffee. Lio watches him fumble a lid on his cup over the rim of his own. He has a familiar backpack slung over one broad shoulder, compression sleeve a bright contrast to the dark of a tight shirt. Once he gets the lid on, Galo spins on his heel, fishes his phone out of a pocket distractedly. 

"Okay, man, I gotta go." Galo holds a fist out, still looking at something on his phone. "I'll see ya later. Good luck today." 

Lio reaches out and nudges his fist against Galo's. It earns him a quick beam and a pat on the shoulder before Galo makes for the door. He scoops the keys to his bike up from a small dish on a desk - affectionately known as the _oh shit desk_ \- by the door, then stops. Completely. 

There's a tall box of protein bars on the desk, displacing a few of Galo's things. He must be looking at it. It wasn't there before; Lio knows because he put it there when he got up this morning. Galo tends to lose things in plain sight, like they drop off his radar if he sees them too much, like the protein bars in the kitchen to the right of the fridge he means to grab in the mornings but never remembers. Then, of course, he complains about being hungry. 

But he notices new things right away. It's interesting. 

Lio rises off of the stool and pads slowly to the bathroom, watching Galo from the corner of his eye. 

"Oh, shit, breakfast," Galo says, with some rustling like he is digging through the box. "Where'd you come from, little dudes?" 

//

The sunset mottles a bruise above a skyline like broken teeth. Sitting on the roof of the truck, Lio's feet hurt, even without his weight in them; it radiates up, so familiar it is almost comforting. He wiggles his toes still stuck in his boots. Gueira and Meis are lying beside him, thin legs dangling off the side, arms behind their heads in mirrored poses. 

A small moment of rest and quiet. 

It feels like before, in a way. 

He is sore and tired. His generals are at his side. They spent the day running, running between donation pickups and hotels and tent cities. Distributing clothes, hygienic products, food, books, actual donations instead of necessities stolen from shelves or dug out of dumpsters. Lio doesn't know what to label the feeling in his chest, too complicated to parse out. Instead, he leans back on his hands before lying back entirely, joining his friends. 

Clothes rustle as they shift. Lio feels something brush his hands, and knows; lying there, he takes Gueira and Meis's hands, the simple physicality of it grounding and comforting. They're all here. They're alive.

"Just like old times, huh, boss?" Gueira says jokingly. He squeezes his hand. 

"Yeah," says Lio. 

"It feels good to do something," Meis says. 

"Are you keeping your ears to the ground?" 

"Yeah," Meis says. "We're still stockpiling supplies at a safehouse outside the city as a precaution." 

Lio closes his eyes for a moment. "Good." 

Companionable silence settles over the three of them like a blanket. There's not much to say, Lio thinks. Like always, they'll make it through. They take care of each other. His hands are warm, fingers laced. 

Above them, the sky deepens and darkens, starting to exchange pinks and oranges for purples and blue-blacks. Pretty soon, it will be night, stars pockmarking the smoothness of it. For now, they are just three people lying together outside, a little bit lazy and fighting exhaustion. Lio feels a sharpness in his chest behind his ribs and squeezes his hands. Gueira and Meis do the same in return, a point of understanding. 

"How's it been in the idiot's apartment?" asks Meis, breaking the quiet. 

Lio laughs, brief and airy. "It's okay. Galo’s not a bad roommate, but I miss you guys." 

Gueira jostles his hand. "You need to come to the movie nights my place has been putting on. Something about boosting spirits or whatever. When Meis can make it over, we just eat a bunch and shoot the shit," he says. 

"The hotel I'm in is not nearly as fun," Meis says, "but we do have a pool." 

"Okay, but fuck water!" 

"Dude, there's a hot tub too. You think I swim?" 

Gueira whistles. "You got a ritzy hotel, huh? Bitch. I'm coming over sometime."

"Okay, garden party movie night guy," Meis says. 

His generals bicker, going so far as to sit up and banter over lio's prone form. They don't let go of his hands. 

Lio just closes his eyes, lets their voices wash over him. They're alive. They're right here with him. They're doing okay separated - by necessity, another precaution, staying distant to avoid the worst of the anti-Burnish sentiments. The promare may be gone, but the divide is still there. Assassination of Burnish leaders is a genuine possibility; best not to keep the three of them in a single convenient space. 

Missions are a different story. Being without Gueira and Meis is like missing limbs. 

But they're okay, and alive, and having an increasingly ridiculous heated argument above him, laughter seeping through the mock offense in their voices. Lying there, hand in hand, Lio could almost fall asleep. He takes an easy breath. 

"I'm glad you guys are alright," he says softly. 

The argument dissolves into laughter, and then Lio yelps, eyes snapping open as the air is squashed out of him in a double bear hug. Meis and Gueira grin down at him, half lying on his torso. 

"You like us," Gueira says, teasing. 

Meis shakes his head, purposefully draping hair over Lio's face. "That's embarrassing, boss." 

Lio wriggles his arms free and hugs them fiercely, squeezing his eyes shut against a burning ache. "You guys are assholes," he says, voice wavering. 

//

Lio trudges up the steps to Galo's apartment. He shifts the brown paper bag of last minute groceries to his other arm, then to his hip to fish the key from his jacket pocket. A little firetruck keychain dangles from it, jingling faintly as he unlocks the door and pushes it open. 

He nudges it shut behind him with the toe of his boot, chucks the key on the oh shit desk. The apartment is dark. Lio shucks off his boots with a little effort. 

"Galo, you back?" he calls. 

No response. No music playing either to indicate Galo just can't hear him. Lio shrugs, pads into the kitchen on sore feet to drop the bag. He didn't get much. Some coffee grounds, some snack bars, a few boxes of mac and cheese, a couple jars of applesauce. They'll still have to go shopping, Lio thinks as he puts things away. 

There's more food in the cabinets than Lio has had for much of his life, but they still have to go shopping. Another sharpness, indignity a dagger in his throat. Lio grinds his teeth, clenches his fists until it lessens. He yanks open the fridge, snatches a premade meal, and shuts it with more force than necessary. 

He needs to eat something. He cracks open the lid. He holds his hand over the food to heat it up while he digs around a drawer for a fork. When he takes the first bite, it's still cold. Lio scowls. 

Right. 

Microwave. 

Stubborn, Lio eats it cold. The texture is chewy, sort of like rubber, but Lio has never been picky. He drops the container and fork in the sink when he's done, a cold lump sitting in his stomach. 

He looks at the couch. Galo's couch. Galo's pillow and Galo's blanket lay there waiting for him. 

Lio glares at it. 

He spins on his heel and stalks into Galo's room. 

The room is dark and empty like the rest of the apartment. The bed is unmade and messy. Lio flops face first on it, jacket splayed out like wings, and falls asleep. 

//

The bed shifts and dips with new weight. Lio raises his head groggily, disoriented. Galo is lying on his stomach next to him, smelling like sweat and soot, face buried in the pillow. There's a fist held out to him. 

"Power couple," Galo's voice mumbles. 

Lio shoves his fist against Galo's blindly. "Shut up and go to sleep."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> expect me to lose my chronology at some point but i need SOME before i can write them like consciously sleeping in the same bed. 
> 
> come on. you don't take a nap with a dude after the end of the world and wax poetic about him right away. it takes a hot second. plus lio is a dumbass


	3. this is the place where everything starts to begin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there's a routine now. they try to help each other. galo does a lot of smiling. lio doesn't think much about that

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi :0  
> this was going to be done sooner, then i got lazy. and i started a new job. you may be able to tell where i would get distracted, then start writing again. i only write in the notes app on my phone, so all my paragraphs look so much longer than they are. time to get even more verbose  
> this chunk is just lio not noticing galo pining  
> it's hard to learn signals when you were an illegal human terrorist leader for who knows how long

Lio wakes up. He makes coffee. He puts a healthy splash of creamer in a mug for Galo. He leaves. He tries to help people, provide some modicum of day-by-day comfort while the short and longterm solutions take time, paperwork, and bureaucratic inefficiencies he has never had to deal with. 

At the end of the day, he is exhausted and angry. He sleeps in Galo's bed because he wants to have _something_ and Galo seems fine giving his worldly possessions to a barely retired terrorist. He sleeps fitfully. 

//

Lio wakes up. He makes coffee. He puts a healthy splash of creamer in a mug for Galo. He leaves. He tries to help people, provide some modicum of day-by-day comfort while the short and longterm solutions take time, paperwork, and bureaucratic inefficiencies. They are draining, disheartening. 

At the end of the day, he is exhausted and angry. He sleeps in Galo's bed because he wants to have _something_ and Galo seems fine giving his worldly possessions to a barely retired terrorist. He snaps awake twice, but manages to pull the sleep back over his eyes. 

//

Lio wakes up. He makes coffee. He puts a healthy splash of creamer in a mug for Galo. He leaves. He tries to help people, provide some modicum of day-by-day comfort while the short and longterm solutions take time, paperwork, and bureaucratic inefficiencies. 

At the end of the day, he is exhausted and angry. He sleeps in Galo's bed. He wakes up with stomach pains, scarfs down food, then sits hunched over for an hour until his stomach stops spasming. He gets back to sleep until Galo startles him awake by falling off the bed and yelling. It takes time for Galo to come back to himself, resettle, relax.

//

And so there's a routine to it. 

Sometimes Lio ends up waking up Galo with his nightmares. Sometimes Galo ends up waking Lio with his own. Sometimes Galo is there in the mornings. Sometimes he's there in the evenings. Sometimes he's there but Lio never ends up seeing him because Lio is passed out. They both bring home the occasional grocery bag, pick up laundry from the laundromat, do the dishes. Lio can't remember how the first few weeks went; they blur and confuse in his memory, too much happening at once to determine. 

But this routine feels- okay. 

Galo doesn't complain. He doesn't kick Lio out of the apartment. He doesn't even kick Lio out of his bed to sleep comfortably. He doesn't sleep on the couch like Lio bothers him. He takes the space next to Lio like that's just how it was supposed to be, so he does. When Lio puts creamer in his coffee, his eyes still light up. 

Today, Galo has the day off. no work, no late shifts, no on-call duty. Dressed in a tight vee neck and baggy maroon joggers, he is still in bed tooling on his phone when Lio gets out of the shower and wanders back into the room. 

Lio feels infinitely more human after the wash, sweat and grime and days rinsed off. Showers are something of a guilty pleasure, the heat like a blessing, like home. He loops his towel around his neck. The ends hang over his bare chest. Galo's blue eyes flicker between his phone and Lio. His ears look faintly pink. 

"Man, I'm bored. What are you up to today?" Galo asks, unceremoniously dropping his phone screen first on his chest. 

Lio drags the towel around his neck up and over his head, ruffles his hair. "We're helping rebuild a few houses in the blue district," he says. 

"D'you want some help? Word is I'm pretty strong." 

"You're welcome to come along," Lio says. He drags a fresh shirt out of the drawer Galo cleared out for him and pulls it on. "We need all the help we can get." 

"Right," says Galo. "I'll come with. Wanna ride with me? Or you going with Gueira and Meis?" 

"I'll go with you. You'll need directions." 

Galo laughs a little. "Guess I do! thanks, Lio." 

Lio sits down on the bed, half facing Galo. He muses the hem of his shirt in his hands. There's something like an ache in his chest. "You know, I wanted to thank you," he starts quietly. 

"Huh?" Galo sits up, planes of his abdomen shifting under the tightness of his shirt. "What for?" 

"You've done a lot. For me, and everyone." 

Galo's eyebrows knit together. "I was just doin' my job before, man." 

"I don't think hosting a stranger in your apartment is in your job description," says Lio wryly. 

"You're not a stranger," Galo says with a frown. 

Lio looks at his hands. "I sort of am, Galo." 

It's quiet. Of course it is. What can Galo say? They connected once. That was it. Lio starts to stand when something collides with his shoulder, confusing enough to throw him off balance. He snaps to look, and it's Galo, nudging him in the shoulder with one big fist. 

"Let's fix it then. If you're a stranger," Galo says, undeterred by Lio's caught-off-guard glare. "Let's do some stuff together. Like bowling or something." 

"Bowling," Lio echoes. 

"Yeah! It's pretty fun. I'm kinda bad at it. Or like, i don't know, mini golf? Oh shit, you'd love go karts. Man, we're both taking a break tomorrow and having fun." 

That's- 

Unexpected. Lio stares at him. His heartbeat is suddenly loud in his ears. He blinks, shakes it off. 

"You're an idiot." 

Galo grins, blue eyes bright. "I know." 

//

Galo's motorcycle has enough space for two. Lio sits behind Galo, chest flush to his back, arms around him. He's not a terrible driver. He's quick, responsive, alternating defense and offense as needed. 

Lio rests his cheek between Galo's shoulder blades. It is not quite the same as riding his own bike. Still, there's wind in his hair, gentle enough that it doesn't sting and burn his eyes. The sun that filters through the clouds is warm and simple. 

Something about moving feels good, safe, Lio thinks distractedly. 

Hmm. Maybe not good or safe. Familiar. Familiar is probably the best word. He couldn't stay in one place for long. Moving wasn't safe. They were never safe. But it was a modicum safer, easier to escape, run, an illusion of control. 

He has something like the genuine article now. He can eat when he wants. He can sleep when he wants. He can help people, tangibly, instead of just temporary and fleeting. 

The city buzzes around them like a hive, destroying what can't be salvaged, rebuilding what can't really be replaced. The district isn't terribly far away, but it is a distance. Too far to justify walking when a vehicle was available. Close enough to make the drive short beyond traffic and speed limits. They pull up to a stoplight and stop, Galo shifting to rest one foot on the ground. Lio squeezes his arms around Galo's abdomen. 

"Turn left at the next stop," Lio says. 

"Huh?" 

"Left, next stop," Lio repeats, louder. He feels Galo pat his hands where they're clasped at his front. 

"Gotcha! Doin' okay back there?" 

"Yeah." 

"What's your favorite food so far?" 

Lio sits up. The light is still red. He is used to Galo's out-of-the-blue questions, knows Galo thinks in hopscotch and chainlinks. Galo angles a glance out of the corner of his eye at him. His mohawk is pulled back into a practical but messy ponytail. 

"I don't know," Lio says absently. "I didn't think about it." 

"Mine's pizza!" 

"I know." 

The light flicks to green. The motor revs and Galo's foot leaves the ground; Lio tightens his grip to combat the acceleration. 

Around them, the buildings slowly shrink from highrises to townhomes. Everything lays in varying states of disrepair. Lio directs with a few points and shouts. From previous trips, he recognizes the area, tracks the time until the next fixed landmark to piece together a weaving route. 

It's easy to spot when they've arrived. Galo slows, finds a dirt path where a few trucks are parked, other volunteers already working to unload. The remnants of several foundations stab up through rubble. broken pipes, scorched furniture. 

It's almost enough to make Lio guilty. It's not like he made an effort to preserve the city. Neither he nor Galo thought that far ahead. but it feels fitting. The infrastructure only contributed to oppression and inequalities. Now, they can rebuild consciously, with a focus on community, on recovery, on lifting others up. 

Galo parks, stabilizing the bike. Lio climbs off, returning a few waves to Burnish who recognize him. His ears feel hot. 

Galo is looking at him, grinning. Lio musters up a glare. 

"What?" 

"Your hair is a mess," says Galo, still grinning. 

"It was windy," Lio says. 

Galo gestures with his hands. "Like a mushroom." 

Lio thuds a fist into Galo's shoulder. He's too solid to move, but it's the principle. "Shut up. We have work to do." 

The smile doesn't leave Galo's face, but he nods. He shrugs off his jacket, throws it over the seat of the bike, and looks around. Lio ignores the temptation to snatch it up. 

"Whatta we gotta do first, big boss?" Galo asks. 

//

Lio catches quick flickers and glances at Galo throughout the day. There's something nice about that. A familiar face, someone who has his back, willing to help out despite his own preoccupations. 

Galo can carry a lot. His attitude bolsters the groups he's with. He gets people laughing, joking, talking. A simple camaraderie, guileless and genuine. He's approachable even with his fame. He hoists wood beams up on one broad shoulder and chatters on while walking, accepts praise and thank yous almost bashfully. 

Lio isn't the same. His image is more standoffish, more- something. When people approach him, there's a reverence there. It's more subtle in some, obvious in others, but it's there. He's a leader, a beacon. That's how it is. 

Mostly. 

The non Burnish tend to hold a wariness about them around him. Like he will torch them for any misstep. Whether they are aware of it, Lio isn't sure. 

Kids, however, Burnish or not, find him fascinating. 

The sun is hot overhead. Galo and a team of volunteers are tying ropes to framework to raise a wall for another house. The frameworks for several houses are already upright, with teams preparing walls and roofs and looking at instructions. 

Lio pushes through the burgeoning hope in his chest and focuses on work. He wipes sweat off his forehead, hefts a few planks to carry over. Behind him, the flock of children following him do the same. He glances over his shoulder to make sure they're alright. They have small teams to carry larger pieces. 

"All good?"

"All good!" 

"Alright, onwards," Lio says. 

The ground under his boots is dusty and dirty. Loose crumbles of old foundations crunch underneath. His arms are starting to get tired, hours of work built into muscles. The framers aren't too far away. He doesn't have to go far. 

"Hey, Lio! Oh, hey, dudes." 

Lio cranes his neck to see over the wood on his shoulder. Galo is bounding over, blue ponytail waving behind. 

Lio smiles. "Hey, Galo. You need something?" 

"Some food trucks just came by," Galo says, stopping with a bounce nearby. He waves at the kids, grinning. "They're givin' out meals. You hungry?" 

"Yes!" comes an immediate cry behind Lio; he turns to see the kids crowded around his heels.

Lio laughs lightly. "I think we could eat, but first we have to finish our job," he says. 

Galo seems to stand up taller, beaming. "Of course! lead the way, boss." 

//

Stars flicker and burn between dark patches of clouds. A breeze drags past with enough chill to it to warrant borrowing Galo's sweatshirt again. Legs dangling off the edge of the fire escape, Lio leans on the railing. He's tired and sore after such an intensive day, but there's something positive about it. It doesn't feel heavy like a headache. It's fatigue - he's very familiar with it, the feeling unmistakeable now - but he's comfortable, almost proud. 

Galo sits beside him, swinging his legs. He's changed out of his earlier clothes into a fresher pair, baggy sweatpants with cuffs and a plain tee. His mohawk is free from its haphazard ponytail. 

"You're really good with kids," Galo is saying. "They were just following you like a bunch of ducklings." 

"They were helping me," Lio says. 

"They look up to you. They trust you." 

There's something in Galo's voice, a thin undercurrent. Lio recognizes it but can't name it. He turns a look to Galo, wearing a patient sort of sadness in the set of his jaw. 

"I won't break that trust," Lio says softly. 

Galo's mouth twitches at the corner. "I know you won't," he says. 

And it's simple. It's true. Galo knows him, mind, body, and soul. Lio looks down at his feet, at the city and streets below. 

"You don't have to forgive him," says Lio. 

"I don't," Galo says. 

"I'm still impressed you didn't kill him. I was going to." Carefully, Lio nudges his shoulder into Galo's. "Thank you for stopping me. I don't know who I would've been if you hadn't." 

"You missed it," Galo says, distractedly, like he's thinking about something else, "but I got a pretty good punch in." 

"God, I wish." 

"I really looked up to him, you know." 

Wistful. Galo sounds wistful. Subdued, a little sad, thoughtful. Lio watches him, trying to catalogue important pieces. He shifts closer until they're really side by side, ghosts of body heat blurring between them. 

"You didn't know," Lio reminds. 

Galo's arms are shaking, a barely contained tremor. "It just pisses me off. I don't know what to do," he says, voice tight. 

"We fix what's left." 

"Yeah. It felt good to help out today, at least." 

The conversation fades. Lio leans into Galo briefly, feels some amount of tension release in him. The clouds drift and tumble above them, high above the few skyscrapers that survived. 

It's peaceful. The lifeblood hum of the city is muffled, dulled by the late hour and fatigue of its residents. Maybe before it would be noisy and lively, cars blazing bright headlights, advertisements selling useless things and propaganda, construction jackhammering through it all. 

Tonight, it sleeps. Recovering from a systemic virus takes it toll. They have to avoid reinfection, especially feeling so weak already. It would be easy. 

But they did good today. They helped. Hundreds, thousands across the city did the same in their own ways, their own communities. They can do good again tomorrow, and the day after. They will. 

"We should go to bed," Lio says. 

Galo yawns, as if on cue. "I am pretty beat." 

Lio climbs to his feet. His muscles ache, joints stiff and creaky. He holds a hand out to Galo, making the same grimaces. "I can already hear you snoring," Lio says. 

"I don't snore!" Galo yanks on his hand with a little more force than necessary to stand up. 

Lio shrugs, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye as he ducks back in the window. "Whatever helps you sleep at night," he says. 

Galo follows in after him. "Oh my god, I don't snore."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter.... maybe time for waxing poetic about sharing a bed. i love writing big emotions. my writing goes ham, hope you enjoy idiosyncrasies


	4. it's meant to be.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sometimes you have existential crises while you wash the dishes. it happens. but at least you ate a good breakfast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI my brain was fried for a few days trying to figure out med school secondaries & my new job stuff (i'm a manager of a neuro biobank). then i made creme brulee and painted a dnd character yesterday and decided oh now i can write again
> 
> maybe another chapter or 2 this week?? depending on how my brain works

The empty black of just behind his eyelids pinkens until it's warm red, sunlight streaming in across his face. Lio groans, drags the covers up over his head. He doesn't want to be awake. His body feels heavy, mind groggy and functioning like a few gears rusted off. How the fuck can people _enjoy_ sleeping. 

His own breathing is noisy, amplified in the confined space. But there's something else. Not quite loud, not quite faint. Muffled music drums into the room. It sounds like Galo's. All the intricacies of music genres are too much to figure out, but it sounds familiar like things he has heard Galo listen to. 

Lio sighs. Reluctantly, he lowers the blankets to his chest and blinks to his left. 

The bed is empty, messy and unmade. A shirt lays half flung over the pillow. Galo's phone is not on the charger on the nightstand. So Galo is awake and playing music. Usually that means he is working out. 

Lio closes his eyes again. There's still sun in his face but he's slept through worse. At least here the bed is comfortable and soft, covers warm, room safe. 

He should get up. He _should_ get up. There are things he is supposed to do. There are people he is supposed to help. That fire didn't burn out, didn't skip or drop or fade. That is what he has to do. It's just how it is. 

Lio kicks the covers down and off. He pushes himself up to sit and has to steady himself. His head throbs. His body hurts. That heavy feeling is an ache, an in-set, tired pain. His shoulder hurt, his arms hurt, his back, hips, legs, feet. Lio takes a breath. He lived like this for years. It isn't so overwhelming. It shouldn't be so overwhelming. 

He swings his legs off the side of the bed. His joints complain, nerves sharp as glass. Lio winces, but stands up. He shifts to take a step and pain lances up his leg, up his back, and he has to sit back down again to keep himself from keeling over. 

What the fuck. 

Frustrated, Lio gnashes his teeth. He prods around his thighs and hips until he finds the worst spot, then mashes his palms into it, trying to work it out. Between the fatigue in his arms and the nerve pain he forces, nausea roils up in his stomach until he stops. Lio drops on his back in defeat, legs bent off the bed. His eyes sting so he closes them. 

He just lies there and breathes carefully. His body must just need a second to catch up. He can't recover as quickly these days. That's how it is now. He has to get used to it. 

"Hey, Lio, you awake?" comes Galo's voice with the creak of a door. "Oh, hey! You're up! Cool, you hungry? I made breakfast." 

"I'm not hungry," Lio says, and he hates how petulant he sounds. 

"Okay, but have you ever had pancakes? I didn't think so. I might've burned a few. Pancakes are tough, dude! But- I mean. Uh. You know, I thought you'd want to try something new." 

Lio exhales harshly. "I'm dying. I'll get up in a second. Just leave me here," he grumbles. 

"Oh! Dude, what?" 

The bed dips and shifts with new weight; Lio cracks an eye open to see Galo kneeling by his head. His blue hair is held back in a colorful headband, and his shirt has a white bear holding a stick over a fire on it and _so hot right now_ in text under it. His eyes are bright, playful. He bends down a little. 

"You know, I know CPR," says Galo. "Since you're dying." 

"I can do CPR myself," Lio mutters. 

Galo blinks. "Like. On yourself? That's impossible." 

"I'll do it. Don't give me your pizza breath." 

"Oh, so we're cranky this morning," says Galo. 

"Leave me to die." 

"Where's it hurt? I'll poke you everywhere until you tell me." 

With a groan, Lio musters up a glare. "Don't poke me," he warns. 

"I will!" 

Lio turns his head away from Galo. "Everywhere hurts." 

"Lio, I think you just need an ibuprofen," Galo says. He pushes Lio's bangs off of his forehead to rest his palm there, smiling at Lio's wiry look. "Sit up and I'll grab you a couple and a glass of water. You just have to take it easy sometimes and listen to your body when it tells you it's had enough." 

"My body," Lio says, "doesn't talk." 

"Duh." Galo baps his forehead gently. "It's called knowing your limits. Listen to what hurts and how much it hurts. You probably did too much yesterday, that's all." 

"It wasn't enough yesterday," Lio says. "I'm supposed to-" 

"Take an ibuprofen and eat some pancakes. The rest of the world can handle itself for a few hours without you." 

"Fine."

Lio wants to argue, complain, fight. But he is tired and hurting. He can barely stand up. Begrudgingly, he admits maybe Galo is right, Sort of. He fumbles his arms behind himself to prop himself up; a warm weight on his shoulder is Galo's hand helping him up, easing some of the pressure. Lio sits at the side of the bed. His stomach growls loudly, almost aggressive. He looks at Galo, kneeling next to him. 

"I've never had a pancake," Lio mumbles. 

"You're gonna love it!" Galo says. He crawls backwards off the back with one last pat to Lio's back, then bounces on his heels. "Lemme grab you some meds and we'll go from there! Be right back. Shout if I take too long." 

//

Galo places two oblong blue capsules in his hand. They're translucent, sort of, with little numbers and letters typed on. Lio rolls them around his hand before closing his fist gently, resting it in his lap. He feels edgy, caged. Galo holds out a glass of water and Lio doesn't take it. 

"What do these do," Lio asks flatly. 

"They make stuff not hurt," Galo says. He jostles the cup a little in reminder. 

"How," Lio says. 

"Well, I mean, they're COX inhibitors, which is this enzyme that ends up making a prostaglandin that acts a precursor to other prostaglandins, which usually causes inflammation. So, you block or reduce the formation of the inflammatory hormones, and you get less pain." 

Lio stares at him. "What." 

Galo sits down on the bed. "This acts in your body to stop irritating stuff from causing pain. It works for a few hours, then your body processes it and you'll pee it out. It might make your stomach a little upset if you take it a lot, but it won't hurt you to take it," he explains. 

"And you're sure about that?" Lio unfurls his fist, eyes the pills rolling around on his palm. He looks at Galo. 

"Totally," Galo says. "I take this stuff too. Trust me. We'll eat some pancakes afterwards so if it makes your stomach upset, you have a buffer." 

Lio takes the glass from Galo, pops the pills in his mouth, and downs them with a swift, stubborn gulp of water. He lowers the glass from his mouth and suppresses a nervous chill. Cautious, he searches Galo's face for _anything_ and finds nothing but honesty. He holds the cup back out. 

"Man, I bet you aren't vaccinated," says Galo, taking the glass back. 

"I don't know what that means," Lio says. 

Galo sort of whistles, a low sound. "Okay, that's something we gotta set up for all the Burnish then. I'll take to Ignis. He probably knows who to talk to. Oh, vaccinated means you don't get sick from certain stuff." 

"I don't get sick," Lio says dismissively. He forces himself to his feet, ignoring his body's aggressive complaints with Galo watching. 

"Famous last words," Galo says. "But let's get you some pancakes. We can talk about business stuff later. Come on." 

//

As his pain slowly but remarkably dissolves, Lio decides ibuprofen is not so terrible. He sits on a stool at the counter, leaning on his elbows, while Galo makes another bunch of pancakes. 

_Pancakes_. Pancakes are good. Most of them were vaguely circular and golden-brown. They were a little sweet. They sprung back when he touched them. And they were good on their own before Galo spread butter on each of them and poured syrup over the whole stack and told him to try it _now_. 

"My favorite food is pancakes," Lio decides out loud, chin in his hands. He swings his legs. 

"But have you had a waffle before?" Galo asks. 

"Never heard of it." 

Galo clutches at his chest in mock agony. "One of these days we're getting waffles. I like waffles more than pancakes, but I like crisp more than soft, you know?" 

"I don't know how you're going to top pancakes," Lio says. 

"Chocolate chip waffles," Galo says, with a wave of the spatula punctuating every word. 

Lio sits up straighter. "Chocolate?" he repeats. 

"Oh my God," Galo says. He flips the pancakes off the gridle and onto a plate still sticky with residual syrup. "Lio, I'm gonna blow your mind. Hang on." 

"Okay, but gimme the pancakes first." 

Galo slides the plate over, then turns to the pantry. He rummages around on a few shelves, mumbling to himself. Lio watches for a moment before deciding he has more pressing matters; he digs a knife into the butter and coats each pancake before adding a liberal amount of syrup. This is so much better than canned spam and applesauce. 

"How many more pancakes do you want?" Galo asks. He's holding a small yellow bag in his hands. 

"Wha's 'at," Lio asks around a mouthful of pancake, pointing his fork at the bag. 

Galo hefts it once and it makes a noise. "Chocolate chips. You can put them in pancakes too. I didn't even think about it." 

"Holy shit," Lio says. "Galo."

Galo laughs, beaming. "It'll take two minutes! It'll use up the last of the batter." 

"Then we need to get more," says Lio. 

"Not a problem. Eat up!" 

Lio needs no more encouragement. What he needs is fuel. This just so happens to be incredibly tasty fuel. He eats quickly out of habit and hunger. With his back to Lio, Galo stands at the stove in a tee shirt and boxers, armed with a spatula. The apartment is quiet outside of Galo's music in the background and the sound of pancake batter frying on a hot pan. 

//

"I'm taking you out today," announces Galo, fresh from the shower. 

Lio, arms soapy up the elbows, glances away from washing dishes to look at Galo. Galo's mohawk is wet and combed back, which makes him look very weird and un-Galo. There's a little bit of toothpaste at the corner of his mouth. he's shirtless, all broad chest and slender hips. 

Lio turns back to the sink. "First you offer me CPR, then you offer to kill me. At least kill me with clothes on," he says. 

"I mean out for _fun_ , Lio." 

"I thought you were kidding about that." 

"What? No way! I'm serious." Galo leans sideways onto the counter beside him until he can grin at Lio. "I like you. Let's do something fun." 

Galo's expression is warm and genuine and hopeful. That little bit of toothpaste lingers at the corner of his mouth. He waggles his eyebrows. Lio feels warm, because the water is steaming slightly. Galo wants to spend time with him, more time than they do already. Galo doesn't seem to acknowledge any _debt_ between them. He wants to get to know Lio. 

In a way, Lio can pay him back. If Galo wants to spend time with him, Lio can do that. He can try to give Galo something back, even some small part of everything Galo has given him. 

"What are you thinking?" Lio asks quietly, setting a dish in the drying rack. 

"Oh, man. I don't even know what's open these days. Lemme look some stuff up." 

"I'll finish these dishes," Lio says. 

Galo twists from his side to his chest, leaning on his elbows over the counter now. He taps one foot in a simple beat, and scrolls and clicks on things on his phone. Lio half-watches, attention split. 

He likes being around Galo. Galo is his friend, sort of. Despite everything, their alliance still feels like just that - an uneasy truce, more out of necessity than any sort of friendship. 

Maybe. Does it? 

He was terrified when he thought Galo died. He thought Galo died, incinerated, plummeted, dead. Death hurts, but that's just how it is. But it _wasn't_ , then. Galo was not supposed to die. It wasn't supposed to be, some weird shade of gray where everything was black or white. Or Meis and Gueira, sacrificing themselves to Freeze Force to save him. It was stupid. He was supposed to fight and die if he had to. That was how it was supposed to be. 

The way Galo engages with the world, with his friends, with strangers, is- different. It is. Lio can't help but notice it. People _like_ Galo. Not as a symbol, or a beacon, or an idea. They have easy conversations with him. They tease and play and joke. His relationships with people aren't a duty. They're not required, or just how the world works. Galo does things just because, has friends just because, enjoys things just because, dislikes things just because. The souvenirs and momentos around his apartment are objectively useless; they serve no purpose, but they have meaning, and that's it. Maybe Galo is service-oriented and wants to help, but he is not some- 

Some- what? 

Lio puts down the dish he was holding and it clunks in the sink. He takes a breath, braces his hands on the counter. Distantly, he hears Galo say something, feels a hand on his shoulder.

Lio has relationships because he has to. Lio eats because he has to. Lio sleeps because he has to. Lio cares because he _has_ to. People die because they do. Survival is simple, cut and dry, necessary or not. Lio doesn't know what to do with unnecessary. Unnecessary is luxury, a comfortable bed, pancakes with chocolate chips, clothes beyond what he can wear at a time. 

What is he _doing_? 

"Lio. Hey, Lio, buddy. Come back to me, huh? You're okay," says Galo's voice, urgent and insistent. 

Lio refocuses and startles. He stumbles, off-balance, puts his hands out beyond himself to find floor immediately because- he's on the floor. He's sitting, his legs crumpled underneath him like paper cranes. He breathes hard and glances around, disoriented. Galo's hands are on his shoulders. His eyes visibly search Lio's face. 

"You went really pale, Lio," Galo says. "You okay? What's wrong?" 

Lio sucks in a breath because he needs to. He shivers, a tremor setting in. "I'm fine. I'm fine," Lio says. 

"Maybe we shouldn't have eaten so many pancakes. That's a lot of sugar," says Galo lightly, like he's trying to joke. 

"I don't- did I fall over?" 

"You looked like it. I helped you sit. Didn't want you to hurt yourself." 

"I'm sorry." 

Galo squeezes his shoulders. "Nothing to be sorry for. Remember when I fell off the bed from a nightmare and got that fat lip from hitting my face? It happens. Do you want to talk about it? It looked pretty scary." 

"I don't know what I'm doing," Lio whispers. 

"I don't either," Galo says, in a voice like he means to whisper but doesn't lower his volume enough. "That's okay. We'll figure it out." 

"It's- nothing makes sense. I don't-" Lio clenches his jaw, bites off half formed words that won't make sense anyway. 

"A lotta shit happened really fast, huh. But hey," Galo says, jostling his shoulders a little, "I know you. You know me. And I know we'll figure everything out." 

Lio looks at him helplessly. He can't stop shaking again. His throat feels tight. He reaches up and grips Galo's forearms, knuckles white. 

"Let's go for a walk, get some fresh air. iI's good to cool off even for firebugs," says Galo. 

Lio feels better moving. That seems safe. He nods. "Okay. Okay. A walk is good," he agrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: originally this opened with galo having a nightmare, and there was gonna be stuff. then i didn't like that flow, so it turned into this. galo will get some angst later, don't worry
> 
> this was Also going to have more but.... we'll save really long chapters for when i really need emotional emphasis. i need more buildup
> 
> OH ALSO feel free to say hi, i'm strifeyy-y !


	5. here i am in a valley of pine, waiting for you to find me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lio needs to cool off. galo knows where to go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO  
> this is shorter than originally planned, but i needed to write Something to do anything. i got very distracted by things. potentially a long chapter next if my brain cooperates. i want some sap!! where's the Romance
> 
> Trying to balance goof with trauma is sometimes hard when ur brain says But the Drama

Wind plays with his hair, softened over the curve of Galo's shoulders. Lio rests his cheek against his back, a point of warmth where the air around them has gone cold. The broken skyline tumbled away maybe an hour ago to replace itself with tall pines and rising mountains. The sun claws its way up higher and pulls the shadows up with it. 

There are not many people on the road these days. Travel is not at the forefront of anyone's minds. It was Galo's idea to drive to the mountains when the walk didn't seem to help, something about cooling off and clean air. 

Despite the chill settling in, teasing through the fabric of his clothes, Lio breathes easier, slower. It's odd to think of cold as comforting. Even a few months ago it meant pain, prison, death. Heat was safety and life and power, but now, sometimes, it builds so much with no outlet and no promare that his head feels like splitting and his skin crawls. The sensation is still new and unsettling, enough to make _cooling off_ almost okay. 

Galo follows the road like he knows where he is going. There's no hesitancy, no wavering or slowing down. He just drives. Lio watches the blurry landscape flicker by and closes his eyes. 

He feels- better. More himself. 

The morning's brief but intense disconnect is gone. Lio hopes it stays that way. He remembers his hands shaking as he tried to get dressed to leave and cuts the memory off there. He focuses on feeling instead. The wind, brisk but not sharp yet. His arms around Galo's stomach, hands buried inside their sleeves. Galo's solid form in front of him. 

That's better. This is now. 

That's what is important. 

"This reminds me of the lake," Lio says loudly, picking his head up. The wind tosses back his bangs. 

Galo half glances over his shoulder. "It's the same road! I know another spot!" 

"How much do you go up here?" 

"Not so much now!" 

The world around them slows; pine trees rebuild the detail of their bark, the asphalt textures itself into something rough again. Galo slows down, engine and wind quieting too. There's no one on the road. They can go however fast they want. 

"I used to drive around a lot when I'd get upset," says Galo, not much quieter than before. He sticks his legs out on either side of the bike and mimes walking. "Cheaper than therapy." 

Right. 

Memories flash in Lio's mind, not quite his own but familiar. They're not his. He knows they're not, but there's still a weird sense of knowing, understanding, _our_ that makes the memories stand out. They're Galo's, glimpses of a childhood struggling to process grief, but Lio recognizes them like he lived him. Maybe Galo feels the same? 

"I get it," says Lio. "You could feel in control." 

"Exactly!" Galo says. 

"Do I know where we're going?" 

"Nah," Galo says, "Not really. The lake's filled back up again but it's not the same when it's not frozen. The river that runs into it has a cool waterfall. I thought we could go there." 

Lio hums an affirmative, leaning back into Galo. It doesn't really matter where they go. He had no destination in mind when they walked, and he has none now. 

But he appreciates Galo's presence, easy and uncomplicated. He likes being around him. They can go anywhere. It doesn't matter. 

That's an odd feeling. 

Lio shrugs it off. It isn't critical, and it brings that uncomfortable, anxious heat back into his chest. He sits up slightly, leans back with a looser grip around Galo's midsection. 

"How much farther?" he asks. 

"Just a little bit," says Galo. he weaves in large, exaggerated S shapes. "There should be a spot we can pull off at up ahead." 

And there is, after a few minutes. The smooth ride of asphalt transitions to a funny mix of dirt, gravel, and weeds marked with a small signpost that just reads _Waterfall Trail_. The area is traveled enough to mark, but there are no cars in the makeshift lot when they approach. Lio swings a leg up and off of the bike when it stops, ground crunching underfoot. Before stabilizing the bike, Galo combs a few quick hands through his mohawk; he shoves the keys in his sweatshirt pocket, then joins Lio before the path. 

Tall pines creak and whine around them with every shift in wind. It's familiar, in a way. Lio has lived out of the woods before. They're a different kind of quiet to the city. The city, with all its people and buildings and construction, boasts a constant electric impulse of hum. The woods here have a low mumble like the earth is settling, all organic sounds and open space. Both quiets fade into the background, but they're just different. His and Galo's footprints, crunching pine needles and cold dirt, fill in the empty air. It's just cold enough to wisp breath in fog, noticeable only if you look hard enough. Compared to the humid, dull weather around the city, this actually feels like fall. 

Galo is quiet too, beyond picking out the crunchiest spots to step. His hands are in his pockets, eyes bright and forward. He looks around sometimes, watches the odd bird pass overhead. The few attempts at taming his windwild mohawk only half worked, but it's almost charming. 

Lio feels like he is supposed to say something, the words bubbling in his chest. The ground grumbles beneath his boots. "Thanks for breakfast," he says.

There. He said something. But the feeling lingers. He ignores it. 

"Yeah, no problem. You make me coffee every day," says Galo. 

Lio puffs air from his nose. "I guess I do." 

"It tastes better when you make it too." 

"It's just the creamer." 

"Maybe! All I know is it's good!" 

Galo swings an arm around his shoulders. It puts Lio closer to his side as they walk, Galo friendly and playful, not belligerent or aggressive. He's being friendly. Lio ignores the way his stomach flips at the contact. 

"We should go to this coffeehouse near the station sometime when you don't feel like makin' anything in the morning," says Galo, patting Lio's arm. 

"That might be nice. It's not hard to make, though." 

"I know! But still. They have pastries too that I _bet_ you'd like!" 

Lio glances sideways at Galo, who just grins. "That's more tempting," Lio says. 

"I knew it would be!" 

"How much farther until this waterfall?" 

Galo makes a thoughtful face, looks at his free wrist like he's wearing a watch. He isn't. He drops his hand. "Uhh, good question? I don't think it's far," he says. 

"Just curious," Lio says. "I'm used to walking." 

//

Lio estimates they've walked for about thirty or forty minutes when he first hears the sound of water running. They're getting close to water. Lio would recognize it even without the noise. The flora around them shifts slightly, composition varying from most of the path's towering pines and pine needle beds. Probably plants that require more water, or water more consistently. Lio notes several that look familiar. The path, originally dirt, rubble, and small weedy plants, gathers larger rocks. More erosion on the path, probably from floodwaters, seasonal or just from rain. Moss begins to pop up, more prevalent than before, an immediate sign of more moisture. 

Galo's arm isn't around his shoulders anymore. He abandoned that with a fallen cluster of trees across the trail, hauling himself up in the air to walk on the highest log above Lio's head like a balance beam. He just walks next to Lio now, stepping from big rock to big rock. It looks like he is trying to hide his tracks, but it's- more lighthearted than that. More of a game. 

Lio takes in a breath of pine. He puts his next step on the flat of a rock, a little bigger than his boot. Balancing his weight in it, he lifts himself up. He holds his other foot off the ground, searching for another rock; the closest is just a little too far out of his range, Lio judges, but if he jumps-

Lio hops to the next stone. His arms held out for balance, he lands one-footed, mumbles the other boot on top of the other. His sweatshirt fluffs out like wings at his side. 

He skips to the next, and the next, until he's on par with Galo. Galo grins at him. 

"Floor's lava," Galo says. 

With a look, Lio plants both boots on the trail on either side of a stone. "Ouch," he says flatly. 

Galo sort of shouts. It's some kind of noise, not quite a laugh or a shout but maybe a mix of the two, and he tumbles forward, scoops Lio up with arms around the backs of his thighs. Lio squawks, grabs Galo's jacket in his fists to steady himself; Galo takes off running down the trail carrying him. 

"Galo!" Lio yelps, laughter bleeding into his voice. 

"You stepped in the lava! I'm a firefighter, I gotta save you!" 

"You idiot, put me down!" 

Galo bubbles with laughter, bounds a few more steps before slowing. Lio's hands are on his shoulders, and with Galo holding him up, he looks down at him. Galo is all toothy smiles and breathless laughs and bright eyes. His mohawk is messy; Lio shoves one hand in it and messes it up further in revenge. 

"Saved ya," Galo says, beaming through blue hair. 

Lio's heart spasms in his chest. "Just put me back in the lava," he says. 

//

"You can't see the lake from here," Galo says loudly, hand at his brow to block the sun, "but it's over that way!" 

"It's a nice view," Lio says. 

That seems like a thing to say looking out. The waterfall isn't massive, doesn't overlook a significant cliff that leaves them towering over a valley like emperors. They stand in a break in the treeline where the water carved out its path. The river rushes along a flat of the mountain, then bumbles its way down the slope. Scattered mist in the air catches and spins technicolor sunlight. 

Below them sinks the valley, yawning with pines. The mountains stagger up at the horizon. The sky rolls a few clouds through its broad expanse of blue, but otherwise drips sunlight clean and clear. It is pretty to look at, but admiring the scenery still feels like a luxury. 

But. He can appreciate the quiet. After the overwhelming flurry of panic earlier, this is- good. Galo was right about cooling off. The drive here was an escape. The walk burned off some anxiety. Now, he can stop, think, process where he couldn't before. 

Lio rests his hands in his pockets. They're up higher than the lake, so the air is colder. Their breath is more obvious. 

"Thanks for taking me here," he says. "I think- this was helpful." 

"Of course!" Galo says. He is picking up rocks from the bank and attempting to skip them in an eddy. "You looked like you needed some air." 

"I was thinking." 

"Big mistake," Galo jokes. 

Lio snorts. "I know. I should stop. But there's a lot." 

"Don't I know it." 

The river rolls playfully by, the sounds fading into the background. Water clear, Lio can see straight to the bottom. It isn't deep or particularly wide, but that's interesting anyway. The bed is water-worn rocks and traveling curtains of algae, sticks caught against the few boulders that break the surface into rapids. The waterfall nearby doesn't roar; it grumbles. Lio sits down on the riverbank by Galo. The grass is soft under his palms. The sun is high above them, warm enough that Lio almost doesn't need the sweatshirt. It's a comfort though, the weight on his shoulders. 

"I'm not easy to talk to," says Lio. 

"Huh?" Galo's pebble goes off course. "Sure you are." 

"I'm not. I'm not a good friend. Maybe a decent leader." 

"You make me coffee how I like it," Galo says. "And you make sure I eat breakfast. Plus, you're a good listener. You care a lot, Lio. That's a good friend thing."

Lio opens his mouth. Closes it. His eyes feel warm. He clears his throat, feels a small smile come on. Galo bends down and picks up a rock, then sits next to him in the dirt and grass. 

"You try, and that's what matters, right?" Galo says. 

"I hope so," says Lio. He rests his head on Galo's shoulder because that feels like something he can do. 

"Now check out this cool rock," Galo says, pressing a pebble in his hand. "It's so smooth! I'm gonna keep it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> maybe one day lio will stop ignoring his feelings but today is not that day. when you're a symbol for so long, sometimes you forget how to be a person


	6. let me do it right for once

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> life falls into a routine. there's a domesticity to it, even the dark parts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI  
> i wrote this at work because i had Nothing to do. i just like character interactions, i think they're fun. my brain is too dopey from work to write a Lot but i swear when i finally get the romance going... itll be 10k words  
> minor bit of blood this bit ;;

It's back to routine after that. 

Galo works long shifts. Lio trails along on occasion as an observer, both to learn and to have something to do. Galo joins him every so often on volunteer efforts, be it food drives, clothing drives, building houses, or educational outreaches. They fumble through meals and timing showers and laundry. Galo goes on runs with Aina; Lio joins Gueira and Meis for Gueira's hotel movie nights. The apartment sits empty for hours until one or both of them crashes. 

It works. 

Lio feels- okay. When he trudges up the apartment complex steps and kicks his boots off barely in the doorway, it's nice. It's safe. He can relax, shut down. 

It's not quite night yet. Fall bites down on the sun, snatching a few minutes every day, but outside is still light. Oranges and golds bleed into the apartment. 

His feet hurt. He's been on them all day alongside Meis and Gueira and others, trying to help the Burnish with all of the legal ramifications of their previous status. Most don't have IDs, medical records, proof of birth certificates, proof of education. The few who managed to hide, finding menial jobs with sympathetic bosses, have a leg up on those who escaped to the desert and woods; they have someone looking out for them to attest on their behalf, work with them to get records they never had or lost access to when they awoke. It's a lot of talking, walking, educating, and it hurts, struck across the face with the absolute _injustice_ they've faced. 

But Lio is home now. He helped today, put back some modicum of good and hope into the world. Now, he can find something to eat and sleep. 

"Galo, I'm back," Lio calls, pushing the door shut behind him. 

A resounding silence; Galo must not be home. Lio shrugs. Oh well. Be pads gingerly into the kitchen for food and- 

There's food on the stove. The stove is off, but there's food, a slapdash mix of sausage, rice, and vegetables in a pan. It doesn't look hot, and Lio lifts the glass lid off of the top, it doesn't steam or feel warm. Water drips off the lid. He picks up a chunk of sausage and pops it in his mouth; it isn't entirely cold, but it's definitely been sitting off the flame for a while, probably. With a shrug, Lio grabs a plate from the cabinet, piles a hefty chunk of the dish on it with a big fork, and sticks it in the microwave. 

He pulls the stool over to sit. The relief is instant and bittersweet. His body still aches, but it takes some of the pressure off of his legs. The microwave hums for a minute. Lio stops it before it beeps, the sound unpleasant and grating. It smells good, sizzling slightly, and that's all that matters. 

Despite his hunger, Lio takes careful bites and eats slowly. When he eats too quickly on an empty stomach, it's not good. The food will fit like a rock in his gut if he manages to abate the nausea and hold it down. slowing himself down is frustrating, but necessary. He doesn't have to eat like he's starving anymore. 

Because he isn't. 

He isn't starving anymore. When he gets hungry these days, there is always food to eat. There is even food around when he's not hungry. His clothes fit differently. He feels stronger, more awake, more present. He feels healthy, which is different. But he still has to be careful. Habits are hard to break, and he doesn't have to eat himself sick at every opportunity. 

The sunlight staining the apartment goes cooler, gold tones fading. It's getting late. The sun should be behind the horizon soon, Lio thinks, chewing thoughtfully. 

He doesn't know when Galo will be back. He doesn't know when Galo left, anyway. He must have made himself a quick dinner then ran out, leaving the rest on the stove. Maybe he got an emergency call and needed to get back to the station. 

Lio puts his dish in the sink. He'll see Galo when he sees him. That's how this works. Yawning, Lio pads to the bedroom. He pushes one hand through his hair, and the door open with the other, and there's Galo. 

The shock of it is enough to stop any impulse to say something stupid. What would he say? 

Galo is sitting on the side of the bed holding a shirt to his face. There's blood on the inside of his forearm, on his chin, on his collar. He looks wildeyed, hair chaotic.

Eventually, Lio finds his voice. "Galo, what happened?" 

"Nightmare," Galo croaks. 

"You're bleeding," Lio says. 

Galo jams his eyes shut. He's quiet beyond rough breathing. After a moment, he rasps, "Might've punched myself in the face on accident." 

"Hang on, I'll be right back." 

Lio doesn't wait for an answer; he whisks out of the room and into the bathroom, snatching up a washcloth. He rejoins Galo, standing in front of him. Galo still looks panicked. He doesn't make eye contact, looking closer to Lio's shoulder than his face. 

Carefully, Lio nudges Galo's hand away from his face with the back of his fingers. Galo lowers the tissue obediently, dazed. 

It doesn't look like active bleeding. It doesn't look like anything is broken. He just must have gotten a quick, sharp hit that burst a blood vessel. Deep red blood crusts around Galo's nose with little dried trails down his chin. The thicker spots are less dry and cling to the washcloth when Lio pats it gently. Galo is shivering, wound up tight like a spring. 

"Where are we right now?" Lio asks quietly, trying to clean up the worst of it. 

Galo swallows thickly. He looks around. "Uh. Um. Our place," he says. 

"What color shirt am I wearing?" 

"It's, uh. Blue? Dark blue." 

Nodding, Lio holds Galo's wrist in a loose grip to wipe the blood off of his arm. "Right. How many posters do you see?" 

"Four, I think," says Galo. 

"Right. Doing okay? You're not in danger." 

Galo exhales shakily. He pulls an almost smile. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay. It was just a bad dream. Sorry," he says. 

"You don't know your own strength," Lio says lightly. 

"I was just-" Galo falters. His breath stops, then comes back harsher. He shakes his head. "Sorry. I'm okay." 

Lio tugs on his wrist gently, coaxing. "Come on, let's get some air." 

Galo follows behind him like a lost child, Lio's hand in his gravity pulling him along. He's so different. This was different. This nightmare must have been different. Lio ignores the pulse racing in his ears; he can't panic right now, so he won't. He leads Galo out onto the fire escape where they sit, legs off the side. The sun is a sliver of gold above the horizon, sky broad and purple-blue. Galo exhales and it wobbles. He rests his arms on the railing, rests his chin on his arms. His eyes are closed. 

"There was a bad fire yesterday," says Galo. 

Lio copies his pose, watches Galo's expression. It's flat and tired. "What happened?" 

"It was an accident." The light plays with shadows over Galo's face. "Grease fire by the looks of it. Got out of control. People really don't realize you can't use water for every fire." 

"Was anyone hurt?" 

"Yeah. Young couple got a few burns trying to put it out. The house was worse off. It just..." 

"I understand," Lio says. "It reminded you of before." 

"Yeah." 

"What were your parents like?" 

Galo laughs, low and quiet. "Awesome. They really loved me. My dad made this really good banana bread." 

"We should make it," says Lio. 

"I don't have the recipe," Galo says. 

"Reverse engineer it. We'll make dozens until we find the one that tastes like it," Lio says. 

"That's a lot of banana bread." 

"I know how you eat." 

Galo snorts, glances over at him for the first time in a while. The last of the sun catches in his eyes. "I'm glad I know you, Lio," he says softly. 

"Back at you." Lio holds out a fist. 

There's still dried blood on Galo's face, but he smiles. He reaches out and bumps his knuckles against Lio's. 

//

It's late. Past midnight, probably. He can't be sure. 

Lio lays on his side in a loose curl, blankets pulled up to his shoulder. The room is dark. The curtains are pulled to block the morning when it comes. Galo is a familiar presence behind him, not touching him but comforting nonetheless. He doesn't have a shift tomorrow, isn't on call. He can rest after a hard reminder of some of his worst days. 

The bed is comfortable. Sleeping has gotten easier. Lio doesn't know whether to attribute it to practice or the bed or a combination of the two. But he sleeps easier, wakes up less tired, comparatively at least. Nightmares are still common, and sometimes he feels too wired to lay down for so long, but the sleep he gets is improving, which feels like a victory. 

The bed shifts as Galo does with a low sigh. Lio blinks open his eyes, rolls half over. 

Galo looks at him, the finer details of his face muddled by night. He looks tired. "Can't sleep?" he asks. 

"Getting there," Lio says. "You?" 

"Nope." 

Lio rolls over fully. His knees bump against Galo's. "I'm going to visit Gueira and Meis tomorrow. There's a movie. You should come with me," he says. 

"What time?" Galo yawns. 

"Usually seven. There's pizza." 

"Oh, fuck yeah," says Galo. "I'm comin' with." 

Lio puffs air from his nose, fondness warm in his chest. "I don't know what movie they're playing," he says. 

"Doesn't matter to me." 

Galo's hair is messy above his head. Stray bits of light through the curtains spin silver into his eyes. His lips are curled up in a small smile. Lio yawns and smiles back. It's funny. Lying there comfortable next to a friend, the weight of the day manageable because there's someone else there, a small but meaningful thread of connection. He feels light. 

"Your hair's getting a little long," says Galo, reaching out and lifting a lock over his fingers. 

"I haven't had a chance to cut it," Lio says, breath tight in his chest. 

Galo lets the pale strands fall, curls his hand back up close to himself in the blankets. "I like it. But I like it short too." 

"I shaved it once." 

"What, seriously? Oh my God. Like bald?" 

"Like buzzed," Lio clarifies. He tucks his hair behind his ear. "It got hot in the desert. It seemed like a good idea at the time." 

"I can't imagine it." Galo rolls onto his back, an arm thrown over his eyes. 

"It was practical." 

"Bald Lio." Galo lifts his arm and his head suddenly. "Dude, you shaved your head 'cause it was hot, but you wore fucking leather? You're an idiot." 

"Leather is protective," Lio says defensively. He kicks at Galo's legs. "And weatherproof." 

"Okay, but in the desert? How did you not _reek_ when I met you?" 

"I washed my clothes just for you, duh." 

Galo sticks his tongue out and nudges his legs back. "Smartass. No! No, actually! _dumb_ ass," he crows. 

"Oh, fuck you," Lio groans without heat, rolling over to hide the smile betraying him. 

Galo laughs. "Man, we're both morons. How'd we save the world anyway?" 

"We built a robot out of fire and punched it," Lio says. 

"That's so stupid! Of course we did! Good thing we didn't have to do math or something." 

//

Lio wakes up with a headache. The curtains are closed, but Galo is gone, his side of the bed empty and rumpled. That's normal. Eyes still closed, Lio can hear the shower running. The pipes are noisy. 

He rolls reluctantly out of bed and staggers into the kitchen, not bothering to throw on real clothes and cursing the pain behind his eyes. He sets up the coffee pot because it's easy and monotonous. Sleep weighs him down, so he drags the stool over and sits in his boxers and closes his eyes. He can wait for coffee. Maybe that will wake him up. Maybe that will help his headache. 

His breath is sour in his mouth. Lio licks his lips with a grimace. No, he needs to brush his teeth. The coffee pot whirs and sings as he pads to the bathroom. 

"Galo, I gotta brush my teeth," Lio calls, resting his forehead on the door. 

"What?" Galo calls back, muffled over the shower. 

"I'm coming in!" 

"Just come in! I can't hear you!" 

Rolling his eyes, Lio pushes the door open. Steam greets him instantly in a rush of warm, wet air. The geometric patterned shower curtain is pulled across the tub. Galo is a vague silhouette through it. 

"My mouth is disgusting," Lio says, wiping off the mirror uselessly. 

"Brush your teeth!" 

"I am!" 

With a liberal amount of toothpaste. He'll just deal with the foam it makes, even if it's gross. 

"Can you throw me my toothbrush?" asks Galo, hand peeking out. 

Lio grunts, making a face at his foggy reflection. He fumbles Galo's toothbrush up in his left hand and throws it. It hits and bounces of the wall next to Galo's hand. 

Metal rings squeaking as he moves the curtain aside, Galo peers around, all wet blue hair and broad shoulders. "Did you really just throw my toothbrush?" he says. 

"'m tired," Lio mumbles around the toothbrush. 

"Dude." 

Galo leans, stretches to reach it without just falling out of the shower. Water drips everywhere. His left arm, skin mottled with taut scars, flexes under his weight to hold himself up with a hand on the rim of the tub. With a whiny groan, Galo just gets a grip on the handle and snatches it up, disappearing back behind the curtain. Lio snorts. 

"You're an ass in the morning," Galo says, but he doesn't sound annoyed. 

"Here's the toothpaste," says Lio. He throws it at the shower just as Galo says, "Dude, don't throw it." 

Galo's hand reappears, flipping his middle finger. Lio returns it halfheartedly even though Galo can't see him. He spits in the sink, rinses the toothbrush. 

"Toothpaste's on the floor," Lio says. 

"No shit," says Galo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they're dudes in their 20s, let them be stupid
> 
> ONE DAY there will be romance. but they need to be people for a little bit first


	7. and you’re trying to choke down the feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lio and galo have a normal morning, but they're still figuring some things out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO  
> was gonna make this longer but i have a headache. plus it's kinda fun having a fic where every chapter is the same length. but i will have more

"Hey, Lio," calls Galo through the bedroom door, "you wanna go out for breakfast?" 

Sitting in the kitchen, Lio thinks about all the food tucked away behind cabinet doors, food in the fridge, in the freezer. He thinks about stockpiles in a safehouse out in the wastelands, another up in the mountains. 

But it's best not to waste supplies. If they eat somewhere else, they will still have food here. "Sure, why not," Lio calls back. 

"Awesome!" 

"I still have to get dressed," Lio says. "Whenever you're done." 

"I'm done!" Galo says, over the familiar whiny creak of the bedroom door. By the sound of his footsteps, he joins Lio in the kitchen, grabbing the coffee already prepared. "I know a place that does really good breakfast sandwiches." 

"I trust your judgement," Lio says. He looks up from the tablet, away from work to Galo. 

Galo's hair dries unevenly due to the haphazard chop of his mohawk, done by himself with a pair of scissors that only work every other snip, so some parts spike up already dry and others still hold onto water and droop. It's- 

Lio can't quite think of the word for it, the feeling unfamiliar. It's funny. It's sweet, in a way, Galo with his persona lowered down enough that he can stand there with ridiculous hair and not put on airs. Doesn't justify his appearance, doesn't scramble to maintain a _look_ just for some semblance of normal or cool or whatever around Lio. Galo is just Galo. He drinks coffee with cream in it, and his idea of dressed is carrying a dark shirt in his hand and wearing loose maroon joggers. 

He doesn't have the usual medical sleeve on. Lio doesn't know what it's actually called, but he's seen the scars under it, sees them now, and assumes it's medical in nature. Because Galo's left arm stands out with mottled skin, paler than the rest of him with wine-dark and white scars like thick vines. There's parts where the skin looks too tight, a little shiny. They're burn scars. Lio has seen enough to recognize them. 

"How's work goin'?" asks Galo, setting down his coffee. 

"Trying to prepare for another townhall-council-whatever-they-call-it meeting, because I have to beg them to reconsider giving the Burnish basic human rights." 

Galo groans, tips his head back. "I don't know how they can look at all the shit they did to you guys and be like, yeah, okay." 

"Propaganda," Lio says, "from Kray Foresight, and the rest of the world." 

"Yeah," says Galo tightly. 

But today is supposed to be good. Galo dealt with reminders of his trauma, again, over and over before but still, again. He had a nightmare that feels different than the past, even if he has never talked about them. Lio turns off the tablet, turns on the stool to fully face Galo. 

"What do you want to do until the movie?" Lio asks, more forceful than he means to. 

Galo doesn't seem to notice. "Huh? I don't know. Did ya wanna do something?" 

"I don't know." Lio tries to think of things to do. "We have to do laundry." 

"Oh, like, house stuff? I gotta get gas if we're runnin' errands." 

Lio lets out a breath slowly. He closes his eyes and counts a few seconds by, hoping to calm his frustration. He doesn't know how to do this. Be a person, have fun, relax. That's not how he is. He doesn't have that luxury. 

"I didn't mean chores," says Lio. "I meant- not work. Together." 

That does something; Galo sort of straightens up, eyes wide, a beam spreading on his face. "Dude, really?" 

"Yeah, I just..." Lio shrugs, ignoring the heat rising into his ears. "You asked before. I'm asking now." 

"No, man, that's- like, that's awesome! Yeah, let's find something! I just gotta do my arm first." 

"That's fine. I still have to get dressed." 

"Are you not?" Galo cocks his head. 

Lio looks down at himself, holds his arms out at his sides a little. The white tee shirt he has on is wrinkled and discolored and stained. He's in boxers otherwise, plain and dark. He looks back up at galo and gestures at himself. 

"No," says Lio. 

"D'ya need any clothes? You mentioned laundry." 

"I'll look," Lio says, standing up. "Let me know if you need help with your sleeve." 

"I gotta moisturize first, but will do!" 

Lio gives a wave of acknowledgement and heads to the bedroom, shutting the door with a click behind him. He pulls off his shirt and chucks it in the direction of the hamper. The hamper is fairly full, clothes puddled around it. They do need to do laundry. Whoever has a free moment first will get to it. 

Mindlessly, he scratches his chest. He doesn't see the same definition in his ribs as he always did, which feels positive. He drags open his dresser drawer, because all of his clothes can fit in a single drawer, and finds it very close to empty. There's a plain white shirt, two pairs of underwear, a pair of black leggings, some socks. 

Lio picks up the shirt. He sniffs it, just to be safe. It smells clean, simple. He looks down at his chest, then back at the shirt, and replaces it in the drawer. Throwing a pair of underwear and the leggings on the bed, he opens one of Galo's drawers. Galo doesn't have an overwhelming amount of clothes either, nothing like the clothing stores they've walked by, but it's more than Lio. 

That's not as bothersome as other things. Lio could survive with the clothes on his back, and that was fine. They were what he had. Now he has the chance to have more, and it's- a lot. He is used to complex decisions, split second judgements, and he is too confused to buy more clothes. 

But he can borrow Galo's. Galo doesn't mind. 

Lio rummages through the drawer for a moment. Galo's shirts are all soft and tagless and usually fitted to his physique. Even fitted, they will be large on Lio. He's not the same broadness as Galo, at least in the shoulders; they might be close at the hips, maybe. but Lio is slender, built more lithe even with the weight he has been building just from eating regular meals. 

He picks out a mottled gray shirt with darker sleeves and pulls it over his head, and it hangs on him. It reaches past his waist, and the sleeves just pass his elbows, but it's comfortable and clean. 

This will work. 

Lio steps out of his boxers, donkey kicks them blindly behind him. They'll end up in the laundry at some point. He pulls on a fresh pair, pulls the leggings up too and tucks the hem of the shirt into the waistband. 

There. He's dressed. 

Oh. Socks. He grabs a pair and shuts the drawers, and leaves the room. 

Galo's not in the kitchen. Lio doesn't see him in the immediate den area either. but the bathroom door is open, so Lio pads over, and there's Galo. He's standing shirtless at the sink, medical sleeve and a tub of lotion open on the counter nearby. He looks focused. 

"How's it going?" asks Lio. "I'm ready." 

Galo glances at him. "Oh, hey. Where'd you get that shirt? It looks big." 

"It's your's." 

"Looks good! I'm almost done." 

Curious, Lio walks to his side. "What do you have to do?" 

"Just gotta moisturize," Galo says, massaging up and down his arm. "Burn scars are tough 'cause they kinda tighten everything up. I use some lotion and massage and stuff to help keep everything, ya know, limber and workin'." 

"Is that painful?" 

"Nah, it's not that bad. It's kinda satisfying sometimes, helps loosen everything up. That's why I have the sleeve too. Plus it keeps it out of the sun." 

"Huh," Lio says eloquently. 

Galo elbows him gently. "Wanna help me get the sleeve on? I can do it no problem, it's just a process with one hand, you know?" 

"Okay, sure. What do I have to do?" 

Galo gestures with his chin to the fabric on the counter. "Just hold it open and I can get my arm in," he says. 

With a hum of acknowledgement, Lio picks up the sleeve. It's a weird, kind of knit fabric. It's tight and stretchy, and it stays cool even in his hands. The directionality of it takes a second to figure out, but the assistive straps that go along the clavicle show the shoulder. Lio grabs the straps, holds the sleeve still for Galo to ease on. Galo ducks to help Lio fit the strap over his head and adjusts it himself on his right shoulder. 

Galo flexes his left arm, now covered. "There we go, good as new!" 

"You need a shirt," says Lio. 

"Bleh." Galo sticks out his tongue. His shirt is on the counter so he picks it up and fits it on, fabric straining around his biceps. "Happy?" 

"No, I prefer you half naked," Lio says sarcastically. "Yes. Now we can go." 

//

Galo pulls the apartment door closed behind them. Lio stands in the hallway, looking at Galo for direction. Galo stands next to him and the door, puts his hands in the pockets, and looks at him. 

"So where're we going?" Galo asks, just as Lio asks, "What are we doing?" 

Galo stares at him. Lio stares back. 

"I thought you picked something," says Galo. 

"You said you were looking things up," Lio says. 

"But- you said you were ready to go. So I figured," Galo's expression looks guiltier by the second, "that you had, you know, found something? 

"I meant I was ready to go, just." Lio gestures vaguely. "I was ready." 

"Shit, okay. Whoops." 

Galo flips his phone out of his pocket and does something on it. He scrolls a little, then abruptly exclaims, "Dude! We were gonna go eat!" 

"Oh, fuck, right." 

"Okay, okay, I need my keys then. Unless we wanna walk. The place isn't too far." 

"I'm fine with walking," Lio says. His face feels warm, embarrassed he could forget a conversation that didn't happen that long ago. "Let's walk." 

"Cool, okay!" 

They make their way down the stairs out of the apartment complex and outside. 

It's bright with morning sun, a few scattered clouds rolling through. There's a chill in the air that wasn't there yesterday, but Lio hopes moving will dissuade it for the most part. The street is quiet beyond a few people cleaning up some crumbled concrete. Someone is planting flowers in a freshly turned bed near the sidewalk in front of the apartment building. 

Galo knows where to go, so Lio watches him and follows easily. They fall into step naturally. Lio walks quickly, and Galo's longer legs mean they keep pace without much effort. 

"So, okay," says Galo as they walk, warming up in the sun, "what's your favorite food now? Since you've tried some more stuff." 

"Hmm. I still like box mac and cheese," Lio says thoughtfully. "But. I like ice cream. That wasn't something I got to eat a lot." 

"I'll keep us stocked up then." 

"I tried battered shrimp the other day. Almost ate my weight in it." 

"I'm not a shrimp guy! Or really seafood. The texture's just not great for me," says Galo. "It's a weird kind of chewy?" 

"I'll eat anything," Lio says. He couldn't afford to be picky. 

Galo nudges him with an elbow. "I know, but I'm askin' about what you _like_. I like hearing what you think," Galo says, because Galo says things like that. 

"How do you do that?" 

"Do what?" Galo blinks. 

Oh, shit. He said that out loud. He is messing everything up. He was trying to make this positive for Galo, because Galo does that for him every day. Lio grimaces, stops in his tracks. Galo flounders for a few steps before he stops, spins around. 

"Lio?" 

"You say what you think all the time," Lio says. 

"Well, yeah?" Galo looks confused. "What else would I say? shit, did I say something rude? I swear it just came out wrong." 

Lio starts walking again, quick, because this is better. Moving is good. Moving is safe. He can do this if he is moving. Galo jogs to catch up, then keeps pace. 

"Dude, what's going on?" 

"I don't know why it matters what I think about things," says Lio, more harshly than he intends. 

"Because it's you!" Galo exclaims. "I like you. Like a lot, Lio. and you're a person too, and you think about stuff differently than me and I think it's really cool to hear." 

Lio groans, stops sharply again. "But that's not important. Who cares what I think?" 

Galo fumbles, but stops quicker this time. "What?" 

"It doesn't matter what i think," Lio says. "It's not important. I'm supposed to lead my people and keep them safe. What I think beyond that is irrelevant." 

"Okay," Galo says, like he's processing that and something is starting to click. He nods. "Okay, I understand. But also that's not true, and I want to know what you think about everything. I knew when we were in Galo de Lion and now I don't. It's weird but it's sorta lonely without you in my head." 

Lio takes in a breath and realizes he's breathing harder. He forces himself to stop. He looks at Galo, who just says things like _I like you_ and talks about and to Lio like he is a human being and not an alien, not an outlaw, or a terrorist, or a monster, or a symbol, or anything but just _Lio_. What the fuck is he supposed to do about that? 

"I'm fucking hungry," Lio says, and his voice sounds wild, frayed at the edges. "That's what I think. And I think you're an idiot, Galo." 

"So does everyone," Galo says with a grin that doesn't quite reach his eyes. He nudges Lio's shoulder with his fist. "Come on, let's go get some food."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hilarious but true: i forgot how i started this chapter, so when i had them leave & they're like wtf are we doing? that was just me. i forgot they were gonna eat. i'm very smart


	8. and then finally someone looks at us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> time to sit down and eat. conversation varies, and lio names a few emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO  
> i tried writing this like 3 separate times. this is in fact a frankenstein chapter, copypasted together from others & also with some fresh added stuff  
> NEXT CHAPTER should have some good stuff... theoretically, if i can write a nice big chunk  
> anyway im so tired. i was at work for 12 hours hebhebleb

Lio feels- untethered, like the boundaries of his skin are dissolving, fading out. It's unpleasant. 

Rationally, he knows that's not true. He's fine. It's in his head. But he still wants to hold himself together, tangibly, reinforce himself like armor. Galo's shirt is big on him even with Lio's arms tightly crossed, and the soft cotton doesn't have the familiar weight of leather, of his clothes. 

And of course he does this now. When he is trying to do something for Galo, he frazzles, fries, unhinges. 

Galo just walks next to him. They keep the same quick pace. The world around them looks distorted and strange. Lio thinks Galo might be talking, but the words don't sound like language. Like he is listening to someone speak through a thick wall, a conversation not meant for him and only tangentially audible. Too much and too little to process. 

He needs to get himself together. This is not how he supposed to act. He doesn't do this. He takes care of people. He isn't supposed to- 

Lio tightens his grip, clenches his arms against his chest. 

Stop thinking. Focus. 

He's _fine_. This is stupid. Shutting down over nothing. But this weird disconnect between his thoughts and the rest of him expands, and thinking is a lot because everything is a lot, which is- 

And then there's a weight on his shoulders. 

Lio startles, stumbles, stops. He snaps around to look and it's Galo's jacket and Galo's hands and Galo looks down at him with some kind of expression on his face. Galo adjusts the jacket on his shoulders where his shock threw it loose. 

"How's that?" asks Galo. 

Lio stares at him for a moment. His tongue feels thick and useless in his mouth. 

It- helps. The feeling isn't gone, but the weight is grounding, gravity to keep him from scattering. He loosens his crossed arms to grab at the collar, pulls on it around himself. 

Lio clears his throat and looks away. "I... Yeah," he says. 

Galo smiles broadly, loops an arm over his shoulders and tugs him against his side. "Great! You looked like you needed it. Man, I bet you'd love a weighted blanket." 

"I need a good jacket," Lio mumbles. Not entirely on purpose, he leans into Galo. 

"What you need is some food!" Galo announces. He nudges Lio along, arm still around him like a comfort. "And, you know, maybe a nice jacket. We'll go shopping later." 

"Yeah." 

Galo keeps them walking. He keeps his arm around Lio, a solid presence. He doesn't ask for his jacket back. 

It's- different. Nice, maybe. A weird life preserver thrown out to him that works, does its job like it's supposed to. Lio takes a breath and it's easier than before, less like trying to swallow water. He didn't realize how much he missed his old clothes. They held him together, helped him choke down all kinds of indignities without panic. 

Lio almost doesn't care how far the diner is. Galo is solid against his side, and it's- nice. 

It's nice. 

The buildings on the way stand in varying states of construction. Galo waves at a few people as they pass. Lio ignores the ingrained fear that prickles along the surface of his skin at being around non-Burnish like he always does. He would almost think his hair stands on end just from the breeze, fall starting to chill the air even in the city. 

But the trees arranged like soldiers along the roads are still green. If he strains his eyes, maybe the tips are stained yellow. It's funny how they survived the fire for the most part, unbothered while skyscrapers collapsed around them. 

Lio thinks he likes green. He is more used to beige and brown, sand and rock and barren dirt. Less people braved the desert than the mountains. It was safer, harder to spot individuals on heat maps too. 

But even that wasn't perfect. 

Galo breaks a quick turn, startling enough to keep Lio's mood from souring. He grins, sheepish, and ruffles his mohawk. "Almost went the wrong way. Stuff looks a little different." 

"It's fine," says Lio. 

"You still hungry?" 

"I could eat." 

"Their menu might be a little limited compared to usual, just since," Galo gestures around, "but. I'm hoping they have something you haven't had before! If not, I bet they could do some chocolate chip pancakes." 

"And your breakfast sandwich," Lio says. 

"And my sandwich! It's got two fried eggs and scrapple on a toasted bagel. I might get two. I'm gettin' hungry just thinkin' about it!" 

"You should let me try it." 

Galo jostles him. "Duh! You can take first bite," he says. 

"Thanks, galo," Lio says. 

"Feelin' any better?" 

Lio makes a small noise of affirmation. "Yeah. I think- a lot of things hit me at once. I'm okay," he says. 

"I get that sometimes too," Galo says. He points down the sidewalk. "There's the diner!" 

"That's when you cool off." 

"Sort of! It's more I gotta move, ya know? Get some of that energy out." 

"Right." 

"Oh!" Galo exclaims, patting Lio's upper arm. "What's the vibe for the movie? Like, do I need to bring shit?" 

"What kind of shit," says Lio. 

"I dunno! Like food or something? Money?" 

"There's food there," Lio says. "You don't need money." 

"Awesome, I'll just bring myself then," Galo says. 

Galo's arm leaves his shoulders; Lio turns to look at him and Galo is holding open the door to the diner. His blue hair falls a little in his eyes but he's smiling. 

Lio ducks a nod and walks in. The diner is small, longer than it is wide. Upbeat music drones quietly, low enough that conversation is easy. There's a counter with a glass front and an assortment of pies right at the front. A few people sit on stools at the counter, but there's no one behind it. The whole place smells like food. Lio can't quite place it. Maybe meat cooking? A mix of sweet and spiced savory, maybe. 

Is he just supposed to sit down somewhere? Lio pulls on the jacket around him, resisting the urge to walk right back out. 

Galo bumps him playfully with his shoulder as he walks in, up to the counter, and slaps a bell that only half works. "Heyo! We sit anywhere?" he calls. 

That works. Galo is friendly and outgoing and very helpful like this. Lio convinces himself to relax. 

There's a faint shuffle, and then a woman with dusty peach hair peeks around a wall behind the counter. She has a black apron on over her clothes, a pen behind her ear. 

"Anywhere you want!" she says, grabbing two large menus. "Just the two of you?" 

"Yep!" galo chirps. "Where you want, Lio?" 

//

"I apologize," says Lio quietly, after he has a few bites of food in him, "for snapping at you. I... It wasn't about you." 

Galo looks at him with wide eyes over the top of his sandwich, face obscured from the nose down. He lowers it and there's sauce on his cheek. "Thanks for the apology, but also, like, I know it wasn't about me. I can't pick up on stuff sometimes but Lio, that was obviously about you." 

"Oh," Lio says. 

"Yeah, dude," Galo says casually. He takes a bite, chews it with one side of his mouth to add, "I get bein' frustrated with yourself for all the shit you went through, though." 

Of course. 

Galo hasn't had an easy life either. Lio didn't forget, but it is worth reminding. His nightmares aren't from nothing. The memories are fuzzy and strange, like someone describing a dream half-asleep, but the knowledge of it is sure as stone, an odd instinctual certainty. Like Galo said, they've been in each other's heads. Galo watched his family die in a fire, faltered and fumbled where the rest of the world refused to understand him, constructed himself into some approximation of _worthy_ , of _hero_ to earn love he didn't get otherwise. A victim of Kray's system as much as anyone else, kept alive just to die. 

Galo almost died. Terror spikes briefly and Lio has to remind himself to breathe. 

"Right," Lio says after a beat. 

"We're cool," says Galo. "You don't have to look so worried, man." 

"There's just- a lot." 

"You're telling me." 

"How's your nose?" 

"Huh?" Galo blinks, touches his face and goes a little crosseyed trying to look. "Oh, totally fine. Not a big deal, don't worry about it."

"It seemed like a pretty bad dream," Lio says cautiously. 

With a shrug, Galo says, "I guess so. It was just different." 

That, Lio understands. He's used to the same old nightmares. They're not great, sure, but they're familiar, comfortable, almost. New elements, new twists or sudden changes from the old routine are unsettling. Hard to process, because it's not just rote and numb. 

Lio bites a fry in half. "I hate that. Dreams shouldn't be creative," he says. 

"Dude, seriously. Like, relax with the metaphors," Galo says, "we get it. Don't make me punch myself in the face." 

"Trying to wake up?" 

"No." There's an odd moment of hesitation, uncharacteristic, and then Galo says, "It was just instinct. I was looking at myself in the mirror and my reflection didn't move right. Like me, but not me. I knew somethin' was fucky so i punched it." 

"Makes sense to me," says Lio. 

Galo grins, tired at the edges. He reaches over the table to swat at Lio's hand. "Shut up and eat your food." 

On an impulse, Lio sticks his tongue out. Galo kicks harmlessly at his legs under the table; Lio kicks back. He grins, laughter just hiding beneath his tongue. 

It's ridiculous. This is ridiculous and stupid and fun. Galo is fun, and warm, and compassionate, and he keeps trying to snag Lio's legs between his to stop Lio from bumping their shins, and Lio feels like sunlight sitting on the other side of the table trying to keep up the game. 

He likes Galo. 

He cares about Galo. It hits him like a rock in the stomach. Lio cares about a lot of things, about everyone. Sitting across from Galo, just north of breathless and a smile easy on his lips, Lio thinks this is the first time caring has felt like anything. Before, it was a necessity, a simple fact of life but a liability all the same. The feeling behind it numb and quiet. 

Galo makes it warm and vibrant. He cares about Galo and he doesn't have to shut everything down for the world's sake. He just cares, little sparks flirting along his nerves when Galo is nearby. 

"What's your favorite color?" Lio asks, a nonsense, unimportant question. 

"Huh?" 

"I like blue," says Lio, ignoring how his pulse sounds in his ears. 

Galo runs a hand through his hair, blue tumbling through his fingers. Lio blinks. When did he finish his food? His plate's empty. 

"I really liked red before," Galo says, "but my favorite color's probably teal now. You know, like a blue-green?" 

"What changed?" 

There's an unreadable light in Galo's eyes. "Your spark was teal." 

Lio's lungs stop working briefly. "Oh," he says. 

Galo smiles and his expression is soft. There is still sauce on his face. "Did you even know you could do that? the whole protecting thing?" 

"I don't think so," Lio says. "I wasn't thinking at the time." 

"See? Not thinking is the best." 

Right. 

Galo is walled up. Even now, Galo is walled up. Not all the way, maybe, but still. It's odd to recognize, because it means recognizing Galo is almost always closed off. He isn't always; Lio sees him open more often than other people do, he thinks. They're alike that way. shutting down the self for the sake of others. The face he presents outward is a routine, a show, a _too much_ so they don't reject Galo so much as the play. But he can show Galo he's all in, likes Galo for Galo and nothing else. 

Chewing thoughtfully on a mouthful of syrupy toast, Lio looks at him carefully and feels something nameless unwinch in his chest. 

Galo's jacket is still around his shoulders. Galo cares about him and wants him to be safe, happy, comfortable. 

"Do you want the rest of my fries?" Lio asks, because it's easier than voicing the feeling dancing on his tongue. 

"Oh, fuck yeah," says Galo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feel free to say hi at strifeyy-y.tumblr.com ! i'm easily distracted but i love and appreciate all your comments and kudos <3


	9. there should be just one safe place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's garden party movie night time, sort of, featuring a bit of gueira and meis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *galo dub voice* i'm alive!!  
> i really like writing, please enjoy my random updates. i wrote this on the train to and from work, hope you like!  
> i have to wake up at 4:30am since i have 2 specimens to collect tomorrow at the same time, likes will revive me

The sun hangs just inches above the skyline, dribbling thin honeyed light over the side of the hotel. It's lukewarm, just enough to keep the day's warmth from fading entirely. 

Sitting on a thick branch close to the trunk, Lio pulls string lights up from a loop held by Galo and scatters them through the tree. They got to the hotel early, with the staff and a few volunteers helping to set up for the show. Not ones to stand by and watch, Lio and Galo jumped in. One of the organizers, a Burnish member of the hotel's impromptu community council, was excited to share the procurement of several sets of string lights. 

The lights in his hands are unlit. Shaped like small lanterns, the bulb in each little wire cage is shaped like a flame. 

It's fitting. If anyone else had handed these to him, it would have felt patronizing. Like a _we can tolerate your flames now that you're powerless, now that we've destroyed everything._ Instead, these are proud. These are a small symbol of hope, of resiliency, in a way. They can sit and watch a movie in the middle of the city surrounded by miniature flames, and there will be no fear or malice or uncertainty. 

Lio thinks about that. Their community outreaches have been most successful around the hotels. It's why they're safe enough to put this on. With much of the city in shambles, parking lot potlucks and hotel-led cooking classes and so many other events are attractive to many despite the Burnish presence. The close contact has facilitated relations and raised understanding, though it is admittedly in the early stages. 

The Burnish are still identifiable without their flames. Beyond simple glaring gaps of knowledge, they smell like ash and woodsmoke, they don't have any scars even on the ends of missing limbs, and they run on average almost two full degrees hotter than other humans. He's heard _delayed fever response_ and _WNT signaling_ and _modulated inflammatory microenvironment_ and hundreds of other words thrown around. They mean nothing to him beyond distinguishing the Burnish from the rest of the population. Dangerous and begging for a return to the normal of a few months ago. 

"That's the last of this bunch," says Galo from the ground, looking up at Lio with a hand held to block the sun from his eyes. 

Lio blinks out of his thoughts. He throws the end of the wire with a battery pack onto a small notch in front of him, then peers down. 

"D'we want another one for this tree, or start on the next one?" 

"Probably just one per tree like the others," Lio says. "We don't have too many." 

"Comin' down then, or are you enjoying bein' tall?" Galo says playfully. 

"Don't you have kittens to rescue?" 

"Just one! He keeps gettin' stuck up there. This is the third tree I've pulled him out of today." 

"Oh, shut up," Lio says, smiling. 

Galo turns and puts his back to the tree. He stands braced, stance wide, and pats his shoulders. Lio clambers down a few feet carefully, then grips a branch with both hands. He pushes down on it as hard as he can. It doesn't bend, just creaks and lowers under the pressure. Satisfied it can hold his weight, Lio digs in his fingers and hangs from it. His calves brush Galo's chest. 

Galo grabs onto his ankles. "Gotcha! Drop whenever." 

Lio lets go. He's weightless for a split second, then the backs of his knees curve over Galo and Lio scrambles to catch his head. Galo's hands tighten on his ankles. He makes an undignified sound when Lio's weight pulls on his neck, but he doesn't collapse and Lio doesn't drop like a stone to the ground. 

Lio straightens up, adjusts himself to sit properly on Galo's shoulders and not claw his forehead. "All good?" 

Galo stands taller and pats his shin, tips his hand back into Lio's stomach to smile up at him. "All good. Next tree?" he says. 

"Next tree," Lio says. "Sorry if I scratched you." 

"Didya?" 

Galo keeps his head tipped back. Lio brushes blue hair out of his face and looks carefully. Galo's eyes are very blue. His skin is tan from the summer and unblemished beyond a few bumps near his hairline. There's a few reddening lines, but nothing torn or broken. Lio baps his forehead. 

"Nope, you're all clear," Lio announces. 

"Sweet! Next tree then," says Galo. He adjusts his grip and sets off, steps a little heavier with the added weight. 

"How many more lights do we have?" 

"Uhh," Galo says. "The bag's on belt so I'm not sure, but I wanna say this is the last set?" 

"That's fine. Just curious." 

"D'you know what time it is?" 

"Not a clue," Lio says. 

Galo gets very close to the next tree to make it easy for Lio to climb up. He is almost talking into the bark when he asks, "Any idea when Meis and Gueira'll get here?" 

"Nope," says Lio, scanning the branches. "Gueira's somewhere inside but I don't know what he's doing." 

"Gotcha." 

"Give me a boost." 

Lacing his fingers together, Galo holds his hands palms up near his chest. Lio places the toe of his boot there and pushes his weight into it, reaching up and grabbing handholds at the same time. He hauls himself onto a sturdy looking branch. From there, he claws up several feet. He looks down and Galo is looking up, holding out the next string of lights. 

"You're like a monkey," Galo says. 

Lio takes the string and starts pulling it up. "Thought I was a kitten," he says. 

"Yeah, one of the really fluffy ones," Galo says, trailing the lights up to him. "'cause your hair is so poofy." 

"You're one to talk." 

"My hair's just messy. It's not poofy." 

"Sure, Galo," says Lio. 

"I like your hair though," Galo says. "It's cute!" 

"I need to cut it. You have scissors at home?" 

"Oh, yeah. In the bathroom, one of the drawers, I think." 

Lio nods. "I think I've seen them. I'll look when we get back." He leans a little, trying to spread out the lights through the tree. 

Oh. 

He said _home_. Lio hesitates for a beat. He called the apartment - Galo's apartment, their apartment? - home. Because it is, sort of. He has lived there for- what? Three months, now? It feels safe. He looks forward to going back, peeling off his boots and scrounging up something to eat and going to bed. Bits and pieces of him are starting to pile up; his handwriting on grocery lists, small gifts given to him by grateful Burnish, little luxuries he has picked out himself. There's a mug he bought because he liked the color. It's probably sitting in the dish rack right now. A rose-scented lotion is in the bathroom because Lio went with Galo to get more product for his scars and Lio liked the smell of it and he wanted it and he bought it. 

That's funny. He's never really had a home. Lio turns his face slightly, away from Galo, and smiles. 

"Comin' up on the end now," says Galo, hand high before letting go of the battery pack to keep it from just smacking against the trunk. 

"Got it." 

Lio fits the end of the string over another thin branch like the others before it. He winds his way down to the lower branches. Galo is waiting with his back to the trunk again. Lio doesn't have to ask. He checks a branch before putting his weight on it, then swings himself to hang above Galo. When Galo grabs his ankles, he drops. He catches himself on Galo, Galo steadying and easing the fall. 

Lio pats the shaved sides of Galo's head. "You are pretty strong," he says. 

"You're pretty light," Galo says. He tips his head back a little. "Wanna go see what else we can do?" 

"Yeah." 

"Boss!" 

That's Meis. and Gueira. Lio looks up from Galo to see them on the pavement, waving. They look good. Healthier, stronger, more filled out beyond skin pulled over bone. Meis has his hair in a bun that is barely containing itself. Gueira has a box in his hand, decorated with colorful paper. 

"Hey, guys," Lio calls, waving back. 

They're closer then, and it's funny to realize Galo is walking over with Lio perched on his shoulders. Like it's not a bother. Meis and Gueira meet them in the middle, shoes on asphalt with sleepy sunlight yawning between them. 

"Lio invited me," Galo blurts. 

"You're cool," Meis says with a shrug. "The boss trusts you, so we do too." 

"You don't have to call me that, you know," Lio says. 

"We know," Gueira says. He looks awkward, uncertain. He scratches the back of his neck. "We, uh. We mighta pitched in to get ya something. Could you, like. Get down?" 

Lio blinks. Looks down. He's still on Galo's shoulders. "Oh. Right. Galo?" 

"Gotcha." 

Galo bends at the knees slightly, the change in angle and height making that little bit easier to swing his legs off of Galo's shoulders and drop to his feet. The small matter of his dignity means nothing; Gueira and Meis have seen him at much worse. Galo grins at him once he is back on the ground, bumps his shoulder with a loose fist. 

Meis elbows Gueira next to him. "Go on, give it to him," he says, not quite subtle. 

"Shut up, asshole, I'm gettin' there," Gueira hisses. 

"What's this about?" 

Gueira clears his throat, stands up straighter. Meis does the same. Lio suppresses his amusement; there's something fun about seeing them flustered, playfulness a newfound privilege to no longer fearing for his life. He crosses his arms over his chest, raises an eyebrow. 

"Me and Meis, you know," Gueira says haltingly, red splashed across his cheeks, "It's nothing really. We just- It's a present, okay." 

"You did a lot for us. For everyone," Meis adds. 

"We got everyone at the hotels to pitch in. It's- well, just open it." Gueira shoves the box into his hands. 

Huh. 

Lio stares at it. He looks up at Gueira and Meis, determination stubborn on their faces. They martyred themselves for him, and now they are giving him a gift. 

Lio pushes that thought down. It doesn't matter. That's not how his generals are thinking. He is supposed to open this, so he does. He hooks a finger into the paper and tears, tears, and Galo bundles the scraps in a fist. It's a slender white box underneath. The construction is stiff but curiously fragile. He fumbles the lid off. 

It's a leather jacket. 

Galo leans in, half curved over Lio's shoulder. He is always very close. "Oh, shit, that looks perfect," he says. 

"Since your's got burned off," Meis says. 

Gueira lifts the jacket out, holds it up like he is showing it off. "It's real leather! Didn't want you to forget your roots, you know?" 

"I don't..." Lio trails off. 

He takes the jacket carefully. Meis takes the box.

It's a plain thing. Simple dark leather, shiny in the light and smooth under his fingers. There are a few studs on the shoulders. The pockets have thick zippers. 

Breathing feels funny. His eyes sting and he blinks hard to scrub it away. 

"I don't know how to thank you," says Lio. His voice wavers. 

His weakness earns him broad smiles. Gueira and Meis glow with something like pride, and it's warm enough that for a moment Lio imagines them sharing flames again. He smiles back and it's breathless. 

"It was my idea," Gueira announces smugly. 

"Fucker, who says?" Meis says, elbowing him. "I found the store first." 

Lio laughs. He turns to Galo, feeling light. "I guess I can give you your sweatshirt back. Thanks for letting me borrow it." 

"Am I getting that shirt back too?" 

"Maybe later," Lio says, shrugging the too-big coat off. 

Gueira coughs. Meis smacks him on the back. "We gotta help set up the tables. Meet you at the usual spot once the movie starts?" says Meis, already ushering Gueira away. 

"Yo, take this with ya!" Galo says, chucking a tightly bundled ball of wrapping paper at the two. He cheers when Gueira catches it. 

Lio snorts. He passes Galo back his jacket, which he drapes over an arm. With the sun dipping lower, the chill in the breeze wins out over old sunbeams. He hadn't noticed with Galo's jacket on, insulated by the oversized fabric. Sliding an arm into the new leather, he chases it away again. It fits. It's a funny mix of big-small, just like his bed. The shoulders fit, the sleeves fall slightly past his wrists, the hem of it above his hips. He turns his face into the collar and inhales. Leather, clean and smooth. Lio tugs down on the hem, then holds his arms out, looking at Galo. 

"How do I look?" asks Lio. 

Galo is looking at him. Galo's eyes flicker up to his face, down, then back up. He scratches his head, blue strands fumbling through his fingers. He clears his throat. 

"Uh," Galo says smartly. He reaches out, but drops his hand before touching him. "It, uh. It looks good! You look good!" 

"Thanks, Galo," Lio says, voice curled up with a smile. 

//

Lio realizes, lazily, disinterested, that he has not been paying attention to the movie. He, Galo, Meis, and Gueira took up residence beneath one of the trees lit up with caged fire, a thick blanket beneath them. They're a distance away, still within the perimeter of the parking lot, but mostly out of range of the movie-focused crowd. Paper plates with food residues litter the spaces between them. Gueira is still chomping down pizza, trying to compete with Galo, who has already eaten two pies. 

"They're idiots," Meis muses. He's lying half on his back, half on his side, head propped up on a hand. 

Lio, lying with his head on Meis's stomach, hums in agreement. He's comfortably full, eyes half closed. "It's entertaining, though," he says. 

"It is." 

"How are things in your district?" 

"Rebuilding pretty well," Meis says. "I'm taking cooking classes." 

"Like, just heating stuff? Or what." 

"Nah, like, we made bread last week. It's wild." 

"Is it like making pancakes?" Lio asks distractedly. "Galo makes pancakes sometimes. 

"No idea, never made a pancake," says Meis. "So you and Galo, huh?" 

"Me and Galo?" 

"Twenty!" Galo crows. He burps. 

Meis swats at Lio's side harmlessly. "Yeah, you and Galo. What's goin' on there?" 

"Is that where we're at now? Talking about boys?" Lio says wryly, angling his head to look at Meis. 

"Hey, man, you did sorta save the world with the guy. I think you can take a sec to like, be a teenager." 

"I'm in my twenties, fucker." 

"Coulda fooled me," Meis says. 

Lio headbutts him without heat. "Galo is- nice. I like spending time with him," he says anyway.

"Bit of a knucklehead, though." 

Gueira looks like a chipmunk, trying to down the crust of another slice. Galo looks smug. There's sauce on his face, because of course there is. Lio smiles to himself. 

"Yeah, but who isn't?" Lio says. He sits up. "Hey, Galo." 

"Huh?" Galo turns to him, leans over a few plates because Galo is always close when they talk. "Wassup, Lio?" 

Lio curls a napkin around two fingers and smudges the sauce off of the corner of Galo's mouth. Galo's eyebrows threaten his hairline. 

"That was bothering me," says Lio. 

"What-" 

Galo chokes on the rest of his sentence because Gueira punches him in the stomach. "Twenty, bitch! We're fuckin' tied!" Gueira crows. 

Lying back down, Lio flicks a wrist toward the screen. "Watch the movie," he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> could have wrote more but i got BORED. expect another chapter at random. it'll show up when you least expect it, or like, the next day


	10. the same big and little words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's been a little while. lio and galo have a night in, and it's simple, familiar, good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little longer this time!   
> i kept getting distracted by some compulsive behaviors whoops. now i have to sleep because i'll be running between two hospitals all day tomorrow

There is water dripping down his back, under the wet of his clothes stuck against skin. Lio grimaces. His boots slosh with every step up the stairs. His hair clings wetly to his face and neck, soaked half ponytail not doing much to keep it away. 

hHe's tired. He has been awake for at least twelve hours; he isn't entirely sure of the time anymore, the day dominated by black skies and rain. It's probably late. He still has to dry off, shower, dry off again, eat, sleep, and, dragging himself up the steps, Lio wants to do none of that. 

But there's a nice, shared misery in Galo next to him, equally drenched and exhausted. His mohawk is flattened against his skull. He tried holding his Burning Rescue coat over their heads when they had first left the station, but it hadn't done much; he carries the coat now, leaving puddles on each step it flops hopelessly on. His boots squelch in time with Lio's, which is gross but also kind of funny. 

It's been over half a year now, Lio thinks distractedly. Over half a year since Kray's failed science experiment, as the media commonly refers to it in passing, insofar avoiding _scary_ , judgmental words like _attempted genocide_ and _near-total annihilation of the human race_. But of course they do. The Foresight Foundation's trial is still ongoing. The population is struggling to process it, break through years of intense propaganda. Of course they'd soften it. 

Beyond that, reconstruction is still ongoing, but a fair amount of places are up and running. They're expecting more as efforts continue. They don't have much time left to prepare. It's the absolute depth of fall now, almost scratching into winter. It will be harder in the winter. The air is cold. The days are short. The region's winters are harsh, temperatures easily below freezing and snow piled high. 

But six months. Six months of living with Galo. An odd few weeks of Meis and Gueira in their own apartment, too far removed from the city center for Lio to consider joining. Galo is still working at Burning Rescue. Lio is still working with the Burnish, but, to earn some money of his own, he joined alongside Galo. It's not like he knew where else to go.

The job is- less deadly, these days. Not having to fight living fire makes for an easier time, apparently. It's still fire, but it's tame, predictable. It's why Lio is climbing up the stairs to their apartment in a garish red jumpsuit with _trainee_ emblazoned in black and yellow on the back of the shoulders. He still has plenty of training hours to sit through, the restrictively high number meant to weed out those not prepared to deal with burnish fire. 

But. 

Now there's none of that left. Now, it's just a leftover trauma response. 

Like a lot of things. Lio is figuring out what parts of him are just trauma responses. He thinks Galo is too. It's harder than it looks. 

"I call shower," Galo says, not quite breathless. "Wanna just throw in a frozen pizza?" 

"I'll do two. I'm hungry," Lio says, trudging up the last flight. 

"Genius. This is why I like you." 

Lio snorts. "You just like pizza," he says. 

"God, I love pizza." 

"Just don't use all the hot water." 

"I did that one time," Galo whines. 

"It was definitely more than once," says Lio. He halfheartedly swats at Galo's side. "Just leave some for me." 

"Okay, okay," Galo says, "just shout at me if I'm taking too long." 

"If you take too long, I'm taking over your shower whether you're done or not." 

Galo drops the apartment key before unlocking the door. He looks down at it, then up at Lio, eyes wide. "Okay, but see," Galo bends down to pick up the key, "I wouldn't mind that. That'd be kinda hot." 

"Galo, I swear to god," Lio groans. 

"I'm just joking," says Galo with a half smile. He unlocks the door, pushes it open, and sweeps a gesture. 

Lio punches his shoulder without anything behind it before wandering in. He flicks on a light, because the apartment is dark and the windows are dark. Galo just sticks his tongue out and follows him inside, bumping the door shut behind them with his hip. 

Lio feels himself relax. He sighs, holds onto Galo's arm for balance to tug off his boots. 

"I'm ready to fucking crash," says Galo. 

"Same," Lio yawns. 

He's happy to be back. Work is- nice, familiar. Having something to do is good. But it's always draining. The rest of the Burning Rescue team is not like Galo. They're not unfriendly, for the most part. They help in his training, and they include him in restaurant trips. It's not a bad place to be. 

Lio just cannot navigate their intricacies. He doesn't have a script for it. He knew - knows - how to be a leader. He knows what words to say, how to act, how his face should look. He knows what emotions he can have. He is learning to let some of that down with Gueria and Meis. He loves them. That's a new thing, careful and close to the chest because it only means danger. They work with his plans, and they want to understand him in return. With Galo, it's- easy. Which is weird. Maybe. The scripts don't disappear; they are built into him, ingrained and engraved over years and years, but Galo doesn't seem to mind when his scripts don't match up or are completely wrong. Galo's walls, the play he puts on, are his own version. It makes sense that he understands. 

The team don't. Lio doesn't know how he is supposed to act around them, so he doesn't. He copies some of them, copies Galo sometimes. Most of the time, it works. 

But Galo seems to be in the same boat. He doesn't usually spend time with the team at the station. They work together and they eat sometimes, but he retreats often. 

Coming home is a blessing, then. 

Lio has never been happier to take his shoes off. His feet are wrinkled and damp, socks and boots soaked through. Next to him, Galo has kicked his own shoes off and is peeling off his shirt. 

That's. 

Lio unzips the jumpsuit, steps out. He watches Galo out of the corner of his eye, because Galo is. 

Lio is just jealous. He doesn't have his fire anymore. He's weak, and it shows. Over the months, he has put on some weight and some muscle, but he is not built like Galo. 

Galo is comparatively tall. Galo is muscular, all broad shoulders and biceps. He takes care of himself so the muscles in his stomach are not particularly defined, but Lio has mock wrestled him over stupid shit enough to know punching him in the stomach won't do anything if he knows it's coming, but his sides are ticklish. 

But the point is- Galo is strong, and he looks it. Lio can flex his arms until they shake and not have the same look as Galo. And he's jealous. 

"How is it raining so much?" Galo grumbles. He drapes his shirt around his neck and pads further into the apartment. 

"It does this in the fall," says Lio, pulling his own shirt up and off. Even with the jumpsuit over top, his clothes are wet. "The land's flat. The weather can just barrel through." 

"Ugh." 

"Let me put my shit in the bathroom before you get in there," Lio says. he shimmeys out of his pants. 

"I'm throwin' my shit in there right now but I can wait to shower." 

Lio bundles his clothes up in his arms and heads to the bathroom behind Galo. His underwear is wet but he doesn't feel like walking around Galo naked. Galo's just in boxers too. He drops his clothes in a wet pile by the tub and gestures for Lio to do the same. 

"I'll hang everything up in the shower once we're all done, that way it's not gettin' water all over the place," says Galo. 

Lio places the bundle down beside Galo's. He grabs a fresh towel because he's still damp. "Okay. Remember to save some hot water," he says. 

"Will do, big boss," Galo says. He mock salutes. 

Flipping his middle finger up behind him, Lio leaves. he turns the oven on, then goes to get dressed. It's routine at this point. The rain was new, but beyond the uncomfortable feeling of wet clothes, Lio is unbothered. He's home. He doesn't need anything else. 

Except some warm clothes. 

Lio flicks on the bedroom light. The muffled sound of Galo's shower on the other side of the wall blends with the rain on the window, Galo's collection of firetrucks on the windowsill. Their bed is unmade because it's never quite worth it to make it, sheets haphazard and tangled. He ignores the temptation to climb right in and sleep and digs around his dresser instead. That's more organized than the bed. He grabs a fitted long sleeve shirt, black fabric thin in his hands; black leggings, comfortable and forgettable; a big cream colored sweater; and throws everything and dry underwear onto the bed. 

He undresses the rest of the way and towels off quickly. It's nice to brush off that clammy feeling so quickly. He frees his hair from its half ponytail and rings water out of it. 

His head is half in the sweater when the oven beeps to temperature. As much as he might have ignored it before, he's hungry; his stomach growls at the noise, instinct now. He pulls his head free, pulls the black sleeves to his palms, pushes the sweater sleeves up to his elbows, and beelines for the kitchen. 

The freezer. Annoying to deal with. His anxiety jumps in his pulse, which is ridiculous and not particularly unexpected. Lio only opens it for long enough to snatch a box of frozen pizza out. Galo's pizza stone is on the top of the fridge; Lio stands on his toes to reach it and sets it on the stove. Fitting two pizzas on the thing is technically not recommended, but Lio is nothing but determined. It's precarious but it works. Lio slides the stone onto the first rack, closes the oven door, and sets a timer. 

But he is hungry. Lio snaps a banana loose from a bunch on the counter and sits on the stool to eat. 

Remarkably, his mind is quiet. Usually it is chaos, loud and constant. He had to think about a lot of things before. He still does, but the stakes these days are less. They aren't being killed en masse, or frozen solid, or rounded up into hypothermic jails and experimented on. The Burnish oppression lingers, wavers like a heat wave, progress slow but seemingly steady. Not fearing for his life day in and day out has his mind decibels quieter. 

And then there's Galo. Galo has shown him a few tricks to settle himself when his emotions do run high. The weighted blanket is one of his favorites. He keeps old receipts in his jacket pockets to crinkle when he's bored like Galo ruffles his hair. He can try to calm himself too, easier now without the outside terror. 

Lio throws the banana peel in the trash and wanders aimlessly. Arms crossed over his chest. he smiles to himself. He feels good. Tired, but good. He likes his mug on the table beside the couch. He likes the cheap stuffed dragon toy they won at a festival, posed on top of the model firetruck Galo keeps on top of the TV. He likes his own shit on the oh shit desk, likes the few pictures he has printed out and taped to the walls. He likes his leather jacket hanging on the back of the desk chair. 

It's nice to have his own space. It's nice to not be running constantly, looking over his shoulder, unable to relax. 

And it's nice to share it with Galo. He likes Galo. 

Lio pauses. He looks at the bathroom door, still closed. His face feels briefly too hot and he shakes his head. 

What is he thinking? He paces a few circles around the couch, focusing outside of himself. There's the floor beneath his feet and a few transitions to carpet from wood. The overhead light is soft and unobtrusive, but bright against the dark day beyond the windows. The apartment smells like pizza. It's still raining heavily. Distantly, thunder rolls and groans. The sound of the shower stops. 

Lio yawns, padding back to sit in the kitchen. He settles his feet on a high rung in a perch and leans sideways against the counter. The timer holds a good ten odd minutes left. There's a pen so he clicks it mindlessly, watching the clock. 

The bathroom door creaks as it opens. Bringing with him a rush of warm air, Galo comes out with a towel around his hips. "Pizza in?" he asks. 

"You got like eleven minutes," says Lio. 

"Sweet, I'm gonna get dressed. You wanna find a show or just crash?" 

"I'll see how awake I am after dinner." 

"Sounds good!" Galo offers a thumbs up and heads to their room. His hair is wet and he still looks tired, but he doesn't look quite as gloomy as he did earlier. 

It's funny; there was a moment running through the rain, holding Galo's Burning Rescue coat over their heads, that it wasn't miserable. Splashing in puddles, trying uselessly to dodge the rain; Lio remembers laughing. Galo was laughing too, shouting about how they were so fucking stupid for not bringing an umbrella even when it was pouring that morning. It was stupid, and thoughtless, and childish, really, but. Lio smiles to himself. 

It was fun. 

He stands up, knocks on the bedroom door before slowly peeking in. "Galo?" 

"You're cool," says Galo, waving him in. He is half into a baggy pair of sweatpants, the towel now around his head. "What's up?" 

"Nothing, just bored," Lio says, flopping down on his back on the bed. 

Galo acknowledges him with a hum. He otherwise doesn't pay Lio much mind, focused on getting dressed. He cycles through a few shirts, inspecting them for some intangible quality before stuffing them back in the drawer. After a few tries, he yanks a dark tee over his head, a little cartoon sun emblazoned on the chest. He joins Lio on the bed and crosses his arms behind his head. 

Lio can feel every glance at him. He turns to Galo, who grins at being caught. "What?" Lio asks. 

"Nothing," Galo says. "Just bored. You know what we should do?" 

"What?" 

"Get glow in the dark stars to stick on the ceiling," Galo says, looking up. He looks back at Lio.

Lio sits up. Something bubbles in his chest and he ignores it, ignores Galo sitting up confused when Lio goes to his dresser. 

"Dude, what are you doing?" 

Lio rummages around the bottom most drawer, close to the back. His fingers brush plastic and he digs in, pulls it out. He throws the pack over his shoulder at Galo. 

"Wah- Oh, shit!" Galo exclaims. He shakes the bag of glow stars Lio bought last week. "How are we the same person?" 

"I didn't know if I could just," Lio gestures to the ceiling. 

"Dude, of course!! Help me put these up!" 

Galo tears open the package and hands him half, standing taller on the bed. Lio hauls himself too, but he is still shorter, back to their original difference. It means Galo can flatten his whole palm to the ceiling to stick the stars on, but Lio has to stand on his toes to push the stars on with the pads of his fingers. Which is fine. It works. He watches Galo spell out his name. 

An idea fires to life, and Lio says without thinking, "De Lion." 

"Huh?" Galo says, craning his neck to see around his raised arm. 

"Galo de Lion," Lio says. He gestures with his chin to Galo's name above them. "We have stars left and you already have _Galo_ done." 

"Oh, fuck _yeah_ , Lio, you're a genius!" Galo's beam falters briefly, thoughtfully. "But do you want Galo de Lion or Lio de Galon?" 

Lio shrugs. "We can buy more." 

"Genius," Galo repeats. 

They work together with the last of their stickers to spell out _de Lion_ before the timer beeps noisily. Galo all but leaps off of the bed, landing clumsily with a thud before skidding out of the room. Lio pulls in a breath and it's warm and fond behind his ribs. He follows behind, not in the mood for a race this time. 

//

Outside, the rain hasn't stopped. It spills shadows into the room, darker than usual without moonlight. The stars on the ceiling barely glow, not enough sunlight to shine back. The boundaries of things are fuzzy with no light to define them. 

Lio feels hazy too. It's not a bad feeling yet. His stomach is full. He's warm, dry, comfortable, safe. Galo is a warm presence beside him, illuminated by his phone screen. TV was too much; after pizza, there wasn't much else to do beyond crashing. That's not a bad feeling either. Lio doesn't mind sleep as much anymore. 

He feels good. 

He feels happy. 

That's weird. It isn't surprising though, either. That's weird too, but it's just a name for the feeling that has been lingering in his chest for weeks, a small, hopeful flicker of flame that comes and goes. 

"Hey, Lio," Galo whispers loudly, "You awake?" 

Lio rolls over to face him. He yawns, then says, "No." 

Galo pokes his nose. "Okay, smartass. Check this out." 

Squinting against the sudden brightness of Galo's phone, Lio tries to focus. He closes one eye to reduce some of the strain. The screen clarifies eventually into an image of an oblong container with multicolored blobs and the words _lava lamp_ and _twenty-five dollars_. He looks at Galo, blurry and indistinct. 

"Do we need a lamp?" Lio asks. "The colors are fun." 

"Okay, hang on. Lava lamps are so cool, you gotta see one in action," says Galo, tapping at his phone. He holds it out again. "Look now." 

And now it's a video. Lio blearily takes the phone. It's the lamp again, but the blobs shift and move like thick clouds. They bump into each other and meld, then tumble apart. 

"Okay, we need a lamp," says Lio. "I want this lamp." 

Galo laughs and accepts his phone back. "I knew you would!" he says, beaming. 

"You know me so well." 

"Galo de Lion, baby," Galo says, holding out a fist. 

Lio nudges his fist against Galo's. "Lio de Galon," he says fondly. 

It's natural to turn and face each other, knees bumping between them. Lio nestles his hands close to his chest. Galo mirrors him. His blue hair haloes his head on the pillow. The blanket tumbles over the muscular curve of his shoulder. He is familiar as Lio's own reflection. They were one, once. Maybe it was for a second, a minute, some unimportant beat of time in the grand scheme of the world almost ending, but he lived Galo's life and Galo lived his all in an instant and that has to mean something. 

Lio feels his heart in his chest. He reaches out, rests his hand on Galo's forearm. His fingers brush Galo's shirt. 

Galo looks at him. His eyes are blue even in the dark; Lio's mind supplies the color, deep and warm. His face is tired but soft, affection obvious and helpless. 

_Oh._

"Oh," Lio whispers. 

"Oh?" 

"You always look at me like that." 

Galo knocks his knee into his, presses the flat of his shin to his. "Like what?" he asks. 

"Like you..." The words falter onto his tongue. "Can we go to the lake tomorrow?" 

"Huh?" 

"Maybe to a cafe? I don't think we ever went mini golfing." 

Galo laughs. The sound is light and playful. He pushes on Lio's shoulder with a gentle hand. "Lio, are you asking me out?" 

"Galo, I'm asking you out," says Lio.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so close yet so far... sleepy times now


	11. with some degree of hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some mornings are easier than others. sometimes, they're just simple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO  
> pov change! welcome to galo's head. he's harder to get into than lio because he's a little more complicated somehow. that's why this took a little longer lol i was GOING to post it on wednesday because that was my 10 week postop mark (top surgery babey) but then i got swamped at work ;;   
> but here is some boys. they're just chillin, i needed a small chapter to get into galo's head  
> also sorry to galo for giving him my weird tame nightmares

The apartment is dark and quiet. Door closed, the room is bathed in silvers and deep blues, washing out color but defining borders in sharp contrast. No sound creaks through, like the muddled light pouring in keeps it at bay. Everything is otherwise in its place. recognizable and familiar and just slightly off. 

Galo is alone. 

Sitting in bed he's alone. He feels that in his chest and breathes through thorns. 

He looks around the room. His room. The same small bedroom in the same cheap apartment he has had for a few years. Since getting out of foster homes that weren't that bad but weren't home, since he turned eighteen and was legally, eloquently fucked. It's his room. 

And the door's open. Galo looks at it for a long moment. That doesn't seem right. But his legs itch to move so he climbs out of bed and walks to the door. 

The rest of the apartment is the same as the room. Galo pauses in the doorway. 

Barely noticeable, laughter curls to his ears. 

His blood runs cold, hair standing on end. It's not a good sound. It's not. Some snap instinct says this is bad, unsafe, danger, _wrong_. He _knows_ it inexplicably, the feeling and knowledge of it incomprehensible but there, undeniable. 

Galo reacts without thinking. This isn't about rationality, careful planning. This is inbuilt awareness and impulse; he knows what to do, and he does it. 

He tracks the sound, laughter only hesitating for the occasional breath. It gets louder the closer he gets. It's in the bathroom so he barges in, and there's the mirror and his wild-eyed image, and there he is sitting on the side of the tub. Blue spiked mohawk, covered arm, same face. 

Galo stares at himself. Galo doesn't stop laughing, staring right back at him. He's dressed in white and muted gold, medals decorating his chest and shoulders. 

It's a lot of medals. 

It takes a split second. 

A snarl tearing its way up his throat, Galo snaps forward and grabs himself by the shirt, yanking him up. He doesn't stop laughing and doesn't fight back, staring into him. _No, no, no_ echoes loudly in his head, an internal riot against this transgression. He cocks his fist back. Chest twisted and tangled, Galo punches and punches and punches and Galo never stops laughing. 

Choking on a gasp, Galo jerks awake. Laughter hums around his head. His lungs hurt. He can't breathe. Cold sweat slicks his shirt to his skin, hair to his head. He glances around wildly, trying to process his surroundings. 

He's back in his room. Lio is sleeping to his right, a vague shape under blankets and a head on a pillow. Faint light drips in the window. The rain must have stopped. tThe bedroom door is closed. It's quiet. The city rumbles outside, background and familiar. 

Galo buries his face in his hands and bows slowly over himself, forehead down to the bed and knees digging into his stomach. He breathes hard and fast. Distantly, he feels himself shaking. 

//

When Galo wakes up again, it is bright and the bed is empty. Fear lingers in him like lactic acid, an ignorable soreness, something to be pushed through. He's used to it, really. He takes a deep breath and climbs out of bed. 

In retrospect, that wasn't even that bad of a nightmare. It was just weird. Weird and sequential, which is even weirder. First his reflection moves the wrong way, and now there's a whole other _him_. That doesn't seem right. Usually his nightmares are just historical, memories ramped up with the stress of looking back. 

But hey. He punched the shit out of the bastard. He won't be coming back for a third time! 

It seems safe to avoid the bathroom, though. Galo glances at himself in the small mirror on the desk, smiles toothily at himself. He lifts his shirt up to his chin and smiles more, pats his bare chest and its well-faded scars. The pecs help, shadowing the darker spots. but he _is_ distinctly nipple-less, which he'd thought would stand out but apparently people are too polite to comment, usually. He flexes a little anyway. 

He's fine. He had a weird dream. Now he's fine, and he has things to do! 

Galo lets his shirt fall back down. He yawns, scratches his head. He still has to talk to Lio. 

Lio! Lio is a great guy. He's fun, and he tries really hard at everything, and he likes listening to Galo's powerpoints, and he will put just about anything edible in his mouth. Like he really just ate a bunch of dandelions straight out of the ground one time. Galo still thinks about that, looking at Lio chewing on a bunch of leaves and petals and Lio really just going _I needed a snack_ like that explained it. 

Lio has plenty of stuff that smells like flowers. There's some sprays and lotions and little soaps on the desk that all look vaguely floral. He likes things that taste flowery too, like chapstick and cookies and drinks. Which is kind of funny, because Lio tries for such an intimidating presence, and he is, sometimes, but he also drinks shit with labels like _elderflower lemonade_ and eats dandelions at a park because he was hungry. 

But. Galo shakes his head, claps his hands together. He has to talk to Lio. Not about flowers, or food, or whatever. 

Lio wants to go out sometime! Wants to do something fun like they always do. Galo is trying so hard not to read into it. He _likes_ Lio, and he doesn't want to let that influencing him; Lio used the same phrasing Galo has in the past for going out and having fun, and that is not something Lio probably has the vocabulary for, so of course he used the same framework. That doesn't mean Lio is into him, or asking him on a _date_ , or anything. He'll follow lio's lead. 

Lio's lead right now is in the kitchen, and he's definitely made coffee because he does every morning, so Galo goes to the kitchen. And Lio is there, standing by the stove with two frying eggs sizzling in a pan on the heat. His hair is bed-messy, blond bob sticking up at the back. Two mugs wait by the coffee pot, steam curling organically up. Lio doesn't react much to his presence because Lio doesn't react much to anyone; he's so aware all the time he just knows, and Galo thinks he doesn't want to let anyone know he knows. It's infinitesimal. Lio's pale eyes just flicker over and back, quick enough that anyone would think they imagined it. 

"Morning," Lio says. His voice is so nice, surprisingly deep for someone so pretty and a little rough still with sleep. It curls with a smile. 

"Mooorning," Galo says, dragging out the sound. He nudges Lio's shoulder with his fist and heads for the coffee, cradles the cup in his hands. "Thanks for makin' coffee, too." 

"Of course." 

"One'a those eggs mine?" 

Lio side eyes him. "No, but I can make you one now that you're awake," he says. 

"Just one or three?" 

"We only have two eggs left," Lio says. "I put them on the list." 

"Would ya make me two, pretty please, and we can go shopping today?" 

"If we're back before five. There's a rally tonight." Lio scoops up the eggs and flips them on top of some toast on a plate nearby. 

"I'm on call tonight," Galo says mournfully. "You'd be okay gettin' there?" 

Lio pushes the plate over to him. "Yeah, I'll be fine." 

"why're you givin' me your breakfast?" 

"It's yours," says Lio. "I'll eat the next two." 

"Oh, thanks," Galo says after a beat, unused to the gesture. "Lemme get you some more toast at least." 

"I'd appreciate that." 

Galo moves the plate to the small breakfast bar, out of the way. He picks the bread clip off of the bag and pulls out two slices of white bread. The top end - the piece no one likes because it's half crust - is already gone because Lio holds nothing edible as unworthy of eating. Which possibly means one of Galo's toasts is that end bit. Galo sticks his tongue out at the plate before sticking the bread in the toaster and pushing it down. He alerts Lio with a palm on his back, leans over his shoulder a little while he's cracking eggs onto the hot pan. 

"Toast's in. I'm gonna eat, okay?" 

"Go for it," says Lio. 

Awesome. Galo wheels around the counter to sit on one of the two tall chairs. he scatters some salt on top, picks up one of the toasts, and sets to biting carefully all the way around the yolk. He watches Lio at the stove. Lio keeps his weight in one hip, spatula in one hand and pan handle in the other. He's only in boxers and a loose tee, light but with dark sleeves. It's sweet, a little bit charming, just Lio casual and simple and human. He isn't running around trying to save humanity. He's making eggs for breakfast, and he looks like he just woke up, and Galo loves the little bit of sleep in his face. 

Galo likes the mornings. He admires the haphazard shape of toast in his hand. The best part of anything is the center. It's where the butter melted and collected. It's soft and good, with the warm, unbroken yolk on top. He pops it in his mouth in one bite where it bursts and then it's delicious. With a pleased hum, he starts on the next one. 

Lio flips the eggs out of the pan and onto his own plate, where he's buttered fresh toast for himself. He scoops up the plate and his own coffee mug and joins Galo at the little bar. 

"Good?" asks Lio, with a small nod towards his almost empty plate. 

"So good," Galo says before taking another bite. 

Lio smiles and digs in. He uses a knife and fork though, chopping up the egg on top then cutting little bits for himself. It's kinda cute. 

Galo hums thoughtfully. The kitchen is small but light, and, like the rest of the apartment and his life, better with Lio. There are a few scattered potted plants on the counter in the spot with the most sunlight because Lio has gotten into plants recently. He is pretty knowledge about wild plants, knows what he can eat and what will probably give a really bad stomachache. A lot of times, those were their only options for fresh food. Or something close to fresh, something not conveniently packaged and stolen. The community gardens have Lio interested in growing his own, so they have a few random herbs growing. Sort of a test run, Galo thinks. He's sure Lio is imagining a whole wide garden with berry bushes and vegetable vines and bees and butterflies and everything, enough to give fresh fruits and vegetables to people who never had it. 

Galo does _not_ know how to take care of a plant. Lio takes it very seriously. Probably because of all that. But it's nice to have green in the apartment, something alive and growing. Galo likes it. 

"We should try to make pizza again," says Galo. "Putting the fresh oregano on there was so good." 

"Maybe the next time we both have a night off," Lio suggests. 

"Yeah, it did take a while, huh." 

Lio makes a noise around a mouthful of egg and toast that Galo thinks is a confirmation. It could be something else. Galo fits the last bit of his own breakfast in his mouth and hums in satisfaction. 

With the small tink of silverware, Lio sets down the fork and knife and reaches over. He swipes a thumb at the corner of Galo's mouth. "You always get food on your face," he says. 

"Maybe I was saving that for later," Galo says when he can manage it. 

//

Galo is checking over his gear at the station, Lio off at his rally, when he remembers. 

Shit, he didn't talk to Lio. 

Next time. 

He will next time. 

//

Lio is just coming out of the bathroom, dressed in loose green pants and a towel around his neck, when Galo gets home. His hair is wet and flat and darker with water. The apartment smells sweet, floral, the air thick with fading steam. It's late, or early, depending on the perspective. Galo knows it's well past midnight. deep into the morning that might as well be night. Lio probably wouldn't have been in the shower this late-early on a normal night. 

"Rally go okay?" asks Galo, in the middle of pulling off his boots. 

Lio ruffles the towel up over his head and leaves it there like a hood. "Good turnout. I think it was productive. How was work?" 

"Not too busy. A few alarms we had to check out," he says. "Couldn't sleep?" 

"No," Lio says after heartbeats too long. 

"You warm up okay?" 

"Yeah," says Lio. "I'll be better now." 

"Bedtime then. I'm fuckin' exhausted." 

Galo throws his coat over the back of the couch. He peels off his shirt, hits his shin into the coffee table when he keeps walking with it over his head. He beelines for the bedroom, because he is _tired_ , fatigue down into the bone. He doesn't think about anything because he doesn't want to. Thinking causes a lot of trouble. Thinking brings stuff up. He wants to sleep, and he can't sleep if he's thinking. He kicks down his pants and flops face first into bed. 

He's going to sleep. 

Distantly, he hears Lio moving around. That's comforting. Lio has his back. No doubt. He rolls over onto his side. 

Lio is combing fingers through his hair. It smells a little bit like coconut, maybe. He's sitting on the side of the bed shirtless, towel gone, a small brown bottle to his side. He glances over his shoulder at Galo. 

"Gueira told me something today," says Lio. "So I have a surprise for you in the morning." 

"Dude, that's great, but you can't tell me that because now I'm gonna be up forever guessing," Galo says, not really whining. 

"Do you want to know?" 

Galo buries his face in the pillow. "No, don't tell me. Keep it a surprise. Even if it'll kill me not knowing." 

"You'll like it," Lio says. 

"Don't say that," Galo groans. 

"Goodnight, Galo." 

"Goodnight, you terrible bastard."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOPEFULLY i can get 10 chapters of galo thoughts... and maybe that's it?? who knows. i'm just jamming out to the promare ost on the trains to work man  
> also i Do have lio's surprise planned. however i would not be surprised if i forget. putting this here because it Will jog my memory probably


	12. i had four dreams in a row where you were burned, about to burn, or still on fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> galo has a nightmare, and he and lio talk, sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is longest multi-part chronological thing i have ever written, and i wrote fic for like 2 or 3 years straight (never posted). i'm famously bad at these things. i lose motivation easily but hello???? this is still going??  
> mostly because i haven't gotten to the point i Want to write. galolio kiss when, i ask, like it's not entirely under my own power

_Fire_. 

Everything is on fire. Fire, fire, fire, burning incandescent pinks and greens so bright they hurt. It gnaws through _everything_. The hunger is desperate, endless. It eats and eats and eats and the flames just grow bigger, hotter, hungrier. Like a snake unhinging its jaws to swallow down more and more. It travels so quickly. 

Unnaturally. 

Smoke riots upwards. Thick and dark and opaque. It clouds his eyes, his lungs. He coughs and it's smoke. He breathes and it's smoke, air superheated and acrid. 

His clothes are hot. Not burning against his skin but too hot regardless. His skin is hotter. Something bitter singes in his nose: burning hair. 

Galo runs. He runs blindly, vision shut down in a fit of instinct; he knows he has to move, get away, escape. If he doesn't, he'll die. 

His hands reach the door. 

Reality shatters and reforms in chaos; Galo keeps moving in the dream and out of it, shoving through the door and then he's moving, falling? Galo throws his arms out. He hits the floor with a solid thud, some vague bloom of pain spreading through muscle and bone. His vision clarifies abruptly. His breathing is strangled through smoke that isn't there. He gasps and chokes, clutching his throat. 

He's on the floor. 

Bedroom floor. 

He can't breathe. There's so much smoke. Galo gags, spine curled sharp. A hand touches back and it burns chemical. Galo wrenches himself away. 

" _Don't touch me_ ," he chokes. "Don't." 

It's too much. He's on fire. He's burning, smoke stained, live coals in the beat of his pulse. He pulls himself to his feet, coughing and half aware, and staggers out of the room. 

//

The world stops hurting eventually. The licks of flame on his skin run out of fuel, starved from their source. his nerves go back to quiet. he pulls himself back together, ragged edges not well suited for stitches but fitting back again anyway. 

Galo breathes and it doesn't hurt this time. He scrubs his palms against the sides of his head, shaved hair bristly. 

The cabinet digs into his back, etching marks through his shirt. Galo just breathes. It's cool behind him. The air is cool in his mouth and it warms on his tongue, easy and simple. He keeps his knees close to his chest. The bathmat under his feet is soft. 

The _too much_ fades. Fatigue wedges itself into its place, eager to bunch up into muscle and joints. Galo stays curled up because it feels right. He breathes between his elbows and knees, hands in his hair. He mumbles his fingers over the shaved sections, tangles them in the mohawk and pulls and releases. That's better. 

Galo exhales slowly. 

That was a bad one. There's a tremble still half buried in his spine, residual muscle spasms down into his thighs like _run, run, run_. It doesn't go away so he pushes himself to his feet and paces. The bathroom isn't big. It allows a short back and forth, and that's fine, he can handle that like a cat in a cage. There is no fire at his heals but he feels better moving. He fusses with his mohawk because that's easy, natural, as boring as breathing. 

He imagines a path under his feet. It's well-worn and worn down. Green can't grow there, too quickly beaten back down underfoot into rich earth. It's deep into fall so there's crunchy leaves, the leftovers he is sure to step on. The path is just distinct to the rest of the ground, not quite a rut but offset deeper by an inch or two. His repeated back and forth digs it in further, a trench he is walking in. An elongated fire pit, all protective earth and stone. With nothing to feed on, the fire contains itself or dies. 

So does the nightmare. 

Galo paces up to the bathroom door, closed, and rests his face against it. His feet buzz with momentum, but the urgency relaxes, quiet and background. The wood is cool and smooth on his face. He takes a deep breath before twisting it open. 

The apartment yawns dark. There are plants in the kitchen and Galo didn't realize they let their leaves droop with no light to catch. There's the couch, and the table, and the usual jumble of things so mundane they don't quite register. They're just there in their place. 

The bedroom door is cracked open. Not closed, not open. The latch isn't pushed in like a barrier, but the doorway is not an empty, intimidating void. There's a giveaway of a few inches, a subtle _welcome back_. 

Galo pushes it open carefully. It creaks beyond about a foot of opening, so he squeezes his way in before that. Inside, the bedroom is dark and familiar. The bed and blankets don't move. Lio must be sleeping. Maybe he didn't wake up before anyway. 

As cautiously as he can manage, Galo climbs into bed. The bed dips with his weight and he winces, hesitates, but Lio doesn't react. He sinks into the mattress, much more comfortable than a cabinet in his back, and closes his eyes. 

He feels the blankets shift. Feels the bed grumble just a little. 

"How was the lake?" whispers Lio. 

"Cooled me off," Galo whispers back. "Sorry I woke you up." 

"It was nothing. I'm glad you're back." 

Galo opens his eyes. For a moment, he's not in bed. He's not in the apartment. He's on the ground in some giant machine and Lio is lying on his back in front of him the color of ash. 

Lio is dying. Lio is _dead_ , no pulse, no breath sounds, no rise and fall of his chest. He's missing limbs, the parts of his arms still there crumbling to dust in front of him. All around are people screaming. 

Galo blinks, and it's gone. Instead, it's just Lio lying in bed next to him. His hair is flat in spots and poofy in others because he went to bed with it still wet. His eyes are colorless in the dark but Galo's mind fills them in, pale and pink. He is briefly, intensely glad that he did not leave them to burn out. 

"I'm glad you're back too," Galo rasps. He doesn't think about the screaming. 

"Pizza bagels," says Lio. 

"What?" 

Lio shuffles closer. His head on the space between their pillows. His hand on Galo's pillow. "The surprise. It's pizza bagels. I was going to make them for you in the morning," he says. 

Galo shuts his eyes. It's a lot. His nerves are fried and frayed, live wires under the skin. He can't look at Lio. He means so much. Too much?

"Thanks, Lio," he says. 

//

It's easier in the mornings. He wakes up with hair in his face, ticklish and soft. There's a warm weight along parts of him, against his knees, along his arms. Sunlight spills lazy stripes over him. Over both of them, because Lio is still nestled close to him. 

Lio's head is still in the space between the pillows, cradled. His hair is light and sleep-adled, a few stray strands in loose curls near Galo's face. Galo's breath disturbs them gently. Lio's is still slow and deep, a quiet rustle against the pillowcase. His legs are tucked up between them, calves pressed near Galo's thighs, knees. His arms close to his chest, they brush along Galo's forearms. He is warm and solid and alive. He is not cooling ash, crumbling hollow between his fingers. 

Galo's heart beats painfully in his chest, a patient, easy ache. There's an odd lightness to it. 

He loves Lio. 

This closeness is enough, selfish even. But he knows, like something out of a dream, contextless and vague, that it's something Lio needs too. Something shared, not taken. 

Galo stretches slightly, lazily. Bumps his hand into Lio's chest. "Morning, Lio," he says. 

Lio is a light sleeper; that's all it takes. He yawns, arches like a cat in a stretch. It musses up his hair more, pulls on the blankets. He nuzzles back into place. 

"Morning, Galo," Lio mumbles. "Wha' time is it?" 

"No idea. I just woke up."

"D'you have work?" 

"Late shift, so not for a while," says Galo. His chest feels like light; Lio hasn't moved away. "So I have time for pizza bagels." 

"When'd you want them? I don't think they take long," Lio says. 

"Whenever you wanna get up," he says. "I'm pretty comfy." 

Lio nudges his legs against Galo's, not quite a kick but something playful. "If I'm getting up, you are too, you know." 

"Don't kick me, you have cold feet!" 

"Oh?" Lio's grin goes wicked and toothy. "I do?" 

"Lio Fotia, I swear to god-" 

Lio's fast like a shot; he wriggles his legs free from Galo's and pushes them against his stomach before Galo can draw his legs up to stop him. Galo yelps and pushes away, laughter bleeding together with Lio's. 

"Lio!" Galo grabs his ankles. 

Lio's laugh is bright and soft, and he keeps kicking anyway, trying to free himself from Galo's grip. "What! Too cold?" 

"Stop kicking me!" 

"I'm barely touching you!" 

Lio might be fast but in such close _combat_ , because of course they're wrestling now, Galo has many advantages. He recognizes them quickly, instinctually. Lio is agile and wily, but easily overpowered. He just doesn't have the same capacity for strength that Galo has. Galo is also heavier by a far amount; Lio is slender like a whip, but stoppable if Galo can get a hold on him. 

Galo rolls to pin him, but he has to let go of Lio's ankles to do it. Sensing a break, Lio wiggles loose and avoids him. His head is dangerously close to the side of the bed, so Galo tries to pin him again, trapping his escape route. Or he imagines, until something hits his face and stops him, blinds him. He can hear Lio breathless with laughter. Lio is pushing a pillow against his face.

Galo growls, the sound rumbling and fun in his mouth. He raises himself up on his knees, out of Lio's reach. Lio chucks the pillow at him, but Galo swats it away with a grin. There's a second where Galo processes Lio bunching his knees up to his chest, and then Lio shoves his feet hard into Galo's hips to throw him back. But that's easy to correct. Galo lets him push, grabs his calves to haul him back with him. Lio scrambles to break away because his advantage is when he is moving. Galo tightens his grip and yanks, then lies flat on Lio's back, wheeling his arms around him to hold him down. 

Lio wheezes, but he shakes, still laughing. "Son of a bitch, I almost had you," he gasps. 

"That's just what I wanted you to think!" 

Lio gives one last wriggle to try and break his hold, but Galo just tightens his grip. The ends of Lio's hair almost tumble off of the bed. 

And that's an idea. 

Galo grins, sharp toothed. Lio tangibly senses something, some synapse crying _danger_ because he fights again. He twists his neck to look at Galo, a little wild-eyed and red faced. 

"Galo, you already won, don't you fucking-" 

"Parkour!" Galo shouts, and yanks Lio into a roll straight off the side of the bed. 

//

Lio sits across from him. They're outside, in the last few hours of sun, at the pizza place by the station. Because Gueira and Meis are hosting a movie night at their shared apartment and the station is just closer to them than the apartment, Lio tagged along. So they're getting dinner, because that's what people do. They're hungry, and Lio doesn't mind that Galo wants to eat pizza more than half of the days of the week, and Galo just likes being around Lio. 

Lio is just Lio. It's chilly so he has his leather jacket on. But he has his hair half up, which usually means he's warm, but must just be the hairstyle he wants to wear. It's really cute. 

"Your hair's really cute," Galo says. He takes a sip of water. 

Lio flicks a glance at him. The sun catches in his eyes and burns them pink, vibrant. "Thanks, Galo," he says. 

Galo gestures. "I like the half and half thing." 

"Helps keep it out of my face," says Lio. "Unlike your hair." 

"My hair's not in your face." 

Lio snorts and shakes his head. Galo grins. He taps his foot in a mindless beat, a little lightning rod for the feeling inside him. 

"Are you gonna be home tonight?" Galo asks. 

"Depends," Lio says. He leans forward on his elbows, swirling the straw through his drink with an odd kind of focus. 

"D'you wanna talk about something?" 

Lio meets his eyes again for a beat. Then he doesn't. He shrugs. "The movie might go late. I can stay over if you need some space," he says, watching the water move in the glass. 

"I need space?" 

"I'm asking if you do." 

"You didn't say a question." 

"I don't want to be a problem for you," Lio says, which is also not a question. "It can be hard to be around reminders." 

"Is this because- Oh, thanks, pops," Galo smiles as they slide a pie onto the table between him and Lio. "I just had a nightmare. You know it happens, Lio." 

"I just wanted to check." 

"I'm okay. I get," Galo gestures by his head, "a little crazy sometimes. Overstimulated, I guess. But I like having you around, even if you have ice blocks for feet." 

Across from him, Lio unwinches just a little. He tucks a loose lock of hair behind his ear, then picks up a slice of pizza. "You'd let me know if you needed me," he says. 

"Of course, dude. You do the same. I got your back, you got mine. Just, you know, trust me to have my own too." 

Lio nods. "Of course," he echoes. 

"Thanks for checkin' on me, though." Galo scratches his head. "Sorry if it was, uh. A lot to deal with." 

"I was just- worried," Lio says. "About you." 

Galo's leg bounces furiously. He smiles and it's a little too much, but it feels right. But he knows he'll say something stupid, so he snatches up a slice and takes a bite too big for his mouth to keep himself occupied. 

//

Galo is stretched out in the bunks, arms crossed behind his head, waiting for a signal, when he remembers. 

Shit, he didn't talk to Lio. 

Next time. He'll do it next time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who has been keeping up with this! i'm sure the irregular updates are frustrating lol. plus all the weird idiosyncrasies i put in here, i just pick and choose what of my disordered thoughts to give lio and which to give galo


	13. tell me about it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> at the lake, lio and galo catch up on a few things and skip some rocks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FAST NEW CHAPTER  
> hello i'm bored. i want to watch promare but i'm waiting for the OR to call me for specimen. so of course i'm writing fic  
> minor mention of blood here! and some backstory woo

The rock in his hand is smooth and flat, carefully chosen. Galo holds it along the inside of his index finger, in the crook of his thumb, and looks out over the lake. 

It's refilled since before. A deep well of water, surface still beyond wind whispering overtop. It catches and spins the sun like it's a game. Galo keeps a hand poised along his brow to keep the worst of it out, carefully cocks back his arm, and snaps it forward. The stone disappears briefly. Almost like time bends and it snaps in and out of existence, but it's just a trick of the light; the flat of it skips off of the water and careens it back up. Galo counts the impacts up to seven before the momentum spreads itself too thin and the rock sinks. 

He misses the ice and the fun, indescribable noise the rocks make on it, but this isn't so bad. He's gotten pretty good at skipping rocks, he thinks. Good distance, good number of bounces. 

To his left, Lio is not quite as honed. He holds pebbles differently, twists his wrist. They don't go far, and Galo has only caught up to three skips. But he tries, chewing on the inside of his lip in concentration. 

Galo bends down for another rock. He abandons a few before finding a good one. It fits pleasantly in his hand, and flies even better. Squinting against the sun, Galo counts nine, maybe nine and a half. 

He glances at Lio out of the corner of his eye again. 

Lio is training to join the team. Burning rescue requires EMT certification, among many other certifications and important hoops to jump through. It means Lio has to get certified for CPR. And the quick practice lesson Ignis offered to run before any official attempts went- 

Well. 

They're at the lake. 

Cooling off. Lio's eyes are not as glassy and vague as they were at the station. His face has some color in it again, not his usual healthy color but something close. He's still quiet, more softspoken than usual, but he's talking again and not just gripping Galo's arm like a lost kid. That was pretty frightening. 

When Galo looks his way again, Lio is sitting on a large rock. He isn't far. Leather jacket half hidden under a Burning Rescue coat, Lio looks- small. He doesn't look larger than life like he always does. He looks like a young man just trying to get by, trying to work with the shadows at his heels. The sun weaves gold into his hair, honey across his cheeks. 

Like a flower to the sun, Galo gravitates over. He sits down next to him, leans back on his hands with his legs stretched out front. 

"You're getting better at skipping rocks," says Galo. 

Lio lets out a breath too fast, an almost laugh. He glances at Galo. "Think so?" 

"Know so. It takes time." 

"Yeah," Lio says quietly. 

Water laps at the shore. Just small, random motions. Galo sits up, elbows on his thighs. 

"I don't really know a lot about you," Galo says thoughtfully. "I mean. I know _you_. But I guess... I've never heard it on your terms. I just know it." 

There's a beat. Lio mirrors his pose. "You feel that too? I wasn't sure," he says. 

"Yeah, it's kinda weird." 

"I get that." 

"I just... How did you do it? How did you keep going for so long?" 

That gets him a snort. Lio leans into his side, but it's brief; he straightens back up. "I could ask you that. My parents were Burnish. I never knew anything else. I had no choice. I had to keep going. I had to keep everyone safe." His knuckles are white. 

"I thought it wasn't genetic," Galo says. 

"It's complicated," says Lio. "But no, I wasn't born Burnish. My parents were gone by the time I started. I didn't wake up until I was... eleven, maybe. Hard to keep track of birthdays." 

It's weird to listen to. An overwhelming, pervasive sense of déjà vu. Galo knows exactly what Lio is going to say, could finish his sentences if he tried, but the words don't form until Lio speaks them. It's pure feeling. Galo shifts, angling himself towards Lio. 

"When's your birthday?" Galo asks. 

"I don't know. In the spring, I think. I had more important things." 

"You saved a lot of people, Lio. You saved everyone alive right now," Galo says, and it feels important, heavy. "We wouldn't be here without you." 

"But you can't save everyone," Lio says distantly. "I didn't save everyone." 

"That's not your fault." 

Galo ignores the way his skin prickles. He knows it's true; on some objective, cosmic level, the world and everything that happened are not their fault. What happened would have happened regardless, with or without them. They just happened to fall into this mess. 

But it doesn't feel right. And he knows that's how Lio feels. Guilt lingers, stubborn in the face of so much tragedy. Galo exhales slowly. 

"Do you remember what you told me before? We did everything we could." 

Lio leans back on his hands, turns to look at Galo. His eyes shine and his voice sounds fragile when he says, "Thanks, Galo." 

"Just gotta get through it, right?" 

"Right." Lio turns away, smudges the back of his hand at his eyes. "When- when's your birthday?" 

"Already missed it," Galo says. 

"Shit," Lio says. 

"I'm not too big on birthdays either." 

"It's in the summer, though," Lio says. he glances at Galo. "Isn't it?" 

"Yeah," Galo says. 

"I'll remember that." 

"You don't have to." 

It's almost like the air between them changes, shimmering like a heat wave. Like Lio is pulling living, impossible flame out of some plane of existence again. It crackles, or maybe that's just Galo's imagination. He leans away on instinct. Lio turns bodily to face him. 

"I do," Lio says, and it's a little terrifying, intensity overwhelming. "You're important to me. I want to remember these things. They mean something. You mean something." 

Galo laughs, hoping to diffuse some of the tension. He scratches the back of his head. "It's really not a big deal, Lio," he says. 

"What is a big deal to you?" 

"What?" 

Lio drags a hand down his face. "That came out wrong. I just- I meant. If your birthday isn't, what is? So I can remember that." 

Oh. 

Huh. 

Okay. 

The muscles in his legs twitch and whine and as much as Galo would like to look like he is not losing his mind, he snaps up and paces. Loose rocks clatter under his feet. He fusses with the shaved part of his hair and pushes out a breath. 

Lio doesn't stand up, or yell at him to sit down, look at him, what are you doing, Galo. He maintains his earlier intensity, which is a lot, still sitting on a rock and waiting. 

"When I turned eighteen, I could finally use the money my parents- left me. Insurance or inheritance or whatever. So I got my own apartment like, in October or something, and I had enough left over to pay for some health stuff, so, I guess. If you want something to remember," Galo says, restless. 

"First taste of freedom?" Lio says, voice curled in a smile. 

"You have no idea." 

"Thanks for telling me. Can you show me how to skip rocks again?" 

//

Lio is up to six skips. Mostly, he gets three or four. He pulled his hair back up into a ponytail after Galo re-explained how to hold the rock, like he was getting serious and needed to focus. 

It's definitely later in the day, so it's a little warmer too. Galo's coat lays sprawled out over the seat of his motorcycle. He has a small handful of good rocks that Lio keeps stealing from, but Galo really doesn't mind. The day is a nice break. Maybe it started out poorly, but now he is the sun with Lio, doing a pointless thing for the fun of it. Pines creak behind them. Lio looses another stone and it pings noisily over the lake, skitters five times until it's pulled down. 

Lio invited him to the lake once. 

Galo's eyes widen and his next throw goes wild, clattering down the shoreline instead of anywhere near water. He hears Lio snort. 

"Nice one," Lio teases. 

He still hasn't talked to Lio. When did they have that conversation? Shit. It was less than two weeks. Galo is sure of it. Galo is mostly sure of it. 

Is it worth bringing up now? 

It's been a while. A few days, at least. Lio asked him out. But nothing changed; Lio acts the same, talks the same, treats him the same. Lio still makes him coffee in the morning. They go out to eat sometimes. Lio brings him along for movie nights, which have been affectionately nicknamed _Mad Movie Mondays_ by Gueira, and that's routine too. Maybe Lio really was just inviting him out for something fun. It doesn't feel romantic unless he lets himself hope. 

Like thinking, he tries not to do that. 

"Hey, Lio," Galo says before he can stop himself, "did you ask me out on a date like a week ago?" 

And then his head hurts. 

Ow. 

Galo stumbles backwards, unsteady on the uneven ground. What happened? He blinks, and Lio is in front of him, standing on his toes and holding him by the front of his shirt. 

"Galo, oh my God, I'm so sorry," Lio is saying, pale eyes wide. "I- it slipped, and I must've hit you, and-" 

"Dude, did you throw a rock at my head? First the toothpaste, now this." 

Lio balks. "Not on purpose! You startled me!" 

His head feels warm. Galo flaps a hand. "Is it bleeding? I feel like it's bleeding," he says. 

"A little. You have stuff on your bike. Let me go get something." 

And then Lio's gone in a rush of stones. He stumbles too, in his haste, catches himself with his hands and keeps running. Galo touches his fingers to his forehead tentatively. Wet smears on his skin, and there is a little blood there, or on his fingers now. It's not like it was a big rock. Some edge just must have nicked him. His head hurts, but it's like a headache. He doesn't feel nauseous, hasn't thrown up, didn't lose consciousness. All good signs. 

Except Lio hitting him in the head with a rock when he asked about Lio maybe asking him out. That feels like maybe a bad sign. 

He sighs, and it's helplessly fond anyway. Oh well. 

Lio slips on the bank, skids on a few rocks, and lands next to him, breathless. He bounces up to his feet, a first-aid kit in his hands. His hair is a mess and there's mud down the entire right side of his pant leg, but he looks to be in one piece. 

"Got it," Lio says. He fumbles it open. "Can you sit down?" 

"I don't think I have a concussion," says Galo, sitting down. 

"My arm isn't that good." 

"Can you check my eyes? Hold up some fingers." 

"Right." Lio folds his legs and sits too, kit in his lap. He holds up two fingers on both hands. "How many?" 

"Four total," Galo says. 

"Now?" Lio raises his ring and little finger on one hand along with the others. 

"Six total, 'cause you added two over there," says Galo, pointing. 

"Are they blurry?" 

"Nope. I think you just got a lucky hit in," Galo says. He opens a small square of gauze and dabs blindly at the cut. "Are you okay?" 

"Galo, I hit you with a rock. Don't ask me if I'm okay." Lio holds something up to his forehead, covers Galo's eyes with the other. "Antiseptic spray. Ready?" 

"Go for it." 

And it stings, a little. Galo screws up his face. Lio presses another gauze pad against his forehead and pushes a bandage into his hand. 

"Can you open that?" Lio asks. 

"Yep." Galo peels it open, hands it back to him. "But for real, did you want to go out?" 

"Galo Thymos, I swear to god." 

"Because I want to. Like, with you. On a date. You've never been on a date before." 

Lio's face is very red, and Galo isn't sure if it's embarrassment, shame, or just plain frustration. "Did I do it wrong earlier? Asking." Maybe embarrassment. 

"Nah, I'm just an idiot." 

"I'm an idiot. Look at your face." 

Galo tries very hard. He looks straight up. He crosses his eyes. "I might need a mirror for that, dude." 

Lio punches his shoulder. Galo gasps in mock offense. With a sigh, Lio gently presses the bandage over the cut. His fingers are warm. 

"I'm sorry I hit you," Lio mumbles. Maybe shame. 

"You coooould... take me on a date to make up for it," says Galo with a grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i say this as both someone who has hit their brother in the head with a golfball while minigolfing and as someone who has been hit by a car and thrown on the hood: i have been galo and lio in this situation


	14. a possible tipping point.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> galo and lio talk about the issue at the lake, then have a second to be really stupid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello....  
> i'm sleepy yawn. so much stuff at work. i'm just TRYING to get these two together but they're stubborn?

Maybe that was not the way to go about it. 

Galo's forehead is definitely bruised. It doesn't hurt much beyond the beat of his pulse, but he knows it'll bruise. The bandage stuck on his skin is more annoying than the cut. That's weird to think about.

But maybe he could've handled that better. Galo is not one for introspection if he can help it, but if Lio's body language says anything, it's...

Discomfort? Irritation? _Frustration_ , maybe? Long and short of it: he doesn't look happy. 

Lio slouches in the booth on the other side of the table. He's still wearing two coats. There's a furrow between his eyebrows that hasn't gone away since he came back with the first aid kit. His mouth is set in a fine line, corners stubbornly downturned even when their food comes out. It might not be a scowl, but with Lio and his muted expressions, it might be as good as he can give. 

It turns food bitter in Galo's mouth. He pushes down some knot in his chest and leans closer over the table. "Hey, Lio?" 

"What," says Lio. It's not a question. His expression doesn't change. 

"You know I didn't mean anything bad, right?" 

The furrow deepens. "What?" 

Galo swallows. "I mean- you know. When we talked at the lake about, like, dates and stuff. I didn't mean to embarrass you or anything." 

"I'm not embarrassed," Lio says. 

"Oh." Galo squints at him. "What are you, then?" 

Lio doesn't respond right away. He picks a fry from the plate between them, drags it through a pile of ketchup he salted earlier. He does it like it takes a great deal of focus. Maybe it does! Or maybe he is just stalling. 

Maybe he doesn't know. 

"It's totally cool if it's just, ya know, a bad time. I know you had a bad day and then you threw a rock at me - on _accident_ ," Galo adds hastily, when Lio's face goes a little hollow, "and I'm okay anyway! But just. The world's a hot mess right now. I don't wanna stress you out." 

Lio exhales in a slow drag. His shoulders drop slightly, not really relaxed but resigned, almost. He bites the fry in half. 

"Lio, dude, for real, can you say something? I'm goin' crazy." 

"I'm still trying to process hitting you with a rock," Lio says. 

"It probably woulda been a good skip too," says Galo. 

"That's what I mean." 

"What?" 

Lio leans forward on his elbows. It's not aggressive, but certainly not casual either. Galo forces himself not to react, not match him or bow away. 

"I worry about you. I hurt you and you asked if I was okay. I-" Lio turns a hand to his chest, splays his palm over the cloth there. Something in his expression aches. "I _know_ you, Galo. Not the great Galo Thymos routine. Just you. I'm still figuring so many fucking things out, and I barely know who I am or what I'm doing and I have myself up on some stupid pedestal I can't get off of but I. That's what I am." 

Oh. 

Okay. 

Galo crosses his arms. Leans back in the booth, looks at Lio across the table. Lio stares back at him, and again, there's that dizzying reality of Lio as he is. Just a kid. Vulnerable and stupid and trying as hard as everyone else. Not some untouchable, unfathomable, impossible presence, not someone who requires Galo _proves_ himself worthy of. He wears two coats even inside this dingy diner because the air conditioning is too cold for him. He smells like woodsmoke and he orders water without ice wherever they go and he puts salt on his ketchup instead of on the fries so it sticks better. 

Galo's heart riots in his chest. Adrenaline shivers his muscles, threatens to chatter his teeth. He needs to say something. He should say something cool, something that shows he's good, he's worth something. He looks at the fries, then up at Lio. 

Lio knows him. Lio lived his whole life in a few minutes. Lio knows the truth, but- he wants to hear it in Galo's own words. 

He should be honest. 

"It's- habit," Galo says after a beat. His throat hurts, talking around a lump. He stares hard at the tabletop. "I know I'm a lot. I know that. It's- easier to just. I don't know."

"Put on a play?" Lio offers softly. 

"Maybe, yeah." 

Lio slides out of the booth, stands up, and squeezes in next to Galo. That's- huh. Galo holds his breath high in his chest. Lio's eyes are intense, overwhelming. 

"I don't want a play," Lio says. "I know it'll happen. You know I do the same in my own way. But I like _you_. I want you to take care of yourself. Not just laugh it off." 

Galo has to remind himself to breathe. He bounces his leg and it's furious. 

"You hit me with a rock." 

Lio smiles and it's sharp. "I did. I'm sorry. It was an accident." 

"It kinda hurt, dude," Galo says. 

"Yeah."

Impulsively, Galo reaches out and flicks Lio on the forehead. Lio startles and bats aimlessly at his arm. The line is gone. Galo feels lighter, contradictingly bigger and smaller all at once. 

"Now we're even," Galo says. "Asshole." 

"Should probably stand farther apart next time we're throwing rocks," says Lio, leaning against his side. He rests his head on Galo's shoulder. "We didn't really think that through." 

"I didn't think you'd throw a rock at my face." 

"I'm full of surprises." 

//

The laundromat always smells funny, Galo thinks. A weird mix of clean and dirty, sweat and soap. It isn't unpleasant, but it lingers in his nose like a nosebleed. 

But it's not bad if he doesn't focus on it. He focuses on folding clothes instead, because that is a tangible goal he can accomplish. Warmth still clings to the fabric in his hands, against his chest. Cross the sleeves in, fold the shirt in half. The repetitive motions are easy, if boring.

He can see Lio still switching over the last load. They don't have many clothes between the two of them, but the machines aren't massive. Usually, Galo throws his clothes in one washer, and Lio does another, and that's good enough. Lio separated his into two machines this time for whatever reason. He bundles up wet clothes in his arms and blindly aims for an open dryer. 

It's funny. The fluorescent lighting washes out Lio's hair to an odd blond, marbles his skin. With a hoodie patterned with a gradient of dark vectors, the effect is even more pronounced. He keeps sneaking gummy sharks from the kangaroo pocket at his stomach so the skin where his lips meet is stained blue. Once he gets the dryer set up, he hops up on the table where Galo is folding his clothes. 

Lio is _wearing_ some of his clothes, because Lio just pulls things out of drawers, and, really, Galo doesn't mind sharing. It's worth it to see how Lio tries to style himself. Tonight, it is basketball shorts cinched tight at the waist over dark leggings and stompy combat boots. He swings his legs a little, fishes out the bag of candy and holds it out. 

"Want one?" 

Galo picks one out and pops it in his mouth. "Thanks." 

Lio gives a little hum of acknowledgement. 

He's been pretty quiet since they left the diner on the way back from the lake, Galo thinks. But he did have a pretty rough morning. The days seem to catch up to Lio now; the wear and tear and fatigue shows where it didn't before because he just didn't let it. The lighting casts little violet thumbprints under his eyes. He rolls his shoulders, massages his wrists like they're sore. Maybe they are.

Galo nudges his knee. "Should get some ibuprofen when we get home," he says. 

"I might," Lio says. 

"Does this place smell funny to you?" 

Lio sniffs. He shrugs. "Sorta moldy, I guess." 

"I can see moldy. I thought it was kinda sweaty." 

"That might just be your clothes." 

"Rude!" Galo sticks his tongue out. "I just washed these!" 

Lio leans back on his hands. "Mm, must just be you then." 

Galo flips him off. Lio just bites a gummy in half and yawns, tongue blue. He rubs an eye with the back of his hand. 

"I'm tired," says Lio. 

"You look it," Galo says. 

"Thanks." 

"How's my forehead look?" 

Lio looks at him. "If I could see it through all of your hair, I'd tell you," he says. 

Setting down the folded joggers on the table, Galo sidesteps in front of Lio's legs and shoves a hand in his hair to hold it back. Lio barely reacts. His eyes flicker up, careful and pale. He sits up then, reaches a hand out himself. 

Lio's fingertips just brush his forehead. "You have a bruise here," he says. 

"It doesn't really hurt," Galo says. "Unless I press on it." 

"Don't press on it." 

"Well, duh. Gimme a shark." Galo holds his mouth open. 

Lio mumbles around in his pocket, plastic crinkling over the sound of the dryers. He leans back again, squinting slightly. There's a gummy shark held between three fingers. 

"Catch," Lio says, and he throws it. 

Galo catches it easily, because Lio is not very far away, and he practices these things. He grins, moves the gummy to stick out between his teeth. "Ta da!" 

"That was too easy," Lio says. He pushes a boot against Galo's thigh. "Move back." 

"You're on!" 

And it is on because Galo is so ready for this. He's prepared. This is easy. Lio lobs another candy his way and Galo catches it in his mouth and bows with a flourish. 

"Go farther," Lio says, hopping off the table. He backs up to the windows, hand primed with a gummy. 

"I'm not gonna miss, you know," says Galo. 

"Don't get cocky," Lio says. 

He throws it without warning, but there's enough of a windup - Lio's arm going back, one leg shifting forward - that Galo knows it's coming. He catches it again. Lio looks equal parts fascinated and suspicious. Galo just grins. 

"Told ya." 

"How are you doing this," Lio says. "What the fuck." 

"Firefighting secret," says Galo. 

Lio chucks another one. It's low; Galo bends, tucks down on a knee, and catches it with a quick turn of his head. He straightens up as Lio stalks over. He's a little taller than usual; the boots give him at least an extra inch, Galo thinks. Then Lio pushes the bag into his hands. 

"I bet I can do it," Lio says, very seriously. 

"You're not gonna beat my record, I'm telling you now." 

"For now, the record is four, asshole." 

"Four assholes? You should get that checked out." 

Lio flips him off with a bland expression. "Throw me a shark," he demands. 

"Okay, big boss." 

Galo tries to make it easy. He aims high to give Lio more time, a better angle. Lio's eyes are sharp, but there's an odd difference between hand-eye coordination - which Lio has in abundance - and catching food in your mouth - which Lio does not do. The gummy shark hits his chin and drops. Like a cat, Lio snaps a hand out to catch it, but clearly misjudges the force needed and smacks the candy into the glass front of a dryer. He darts after it and catches it in a stubborn hand before it hits the ground. 

With a glare, he eats it. "That was a bad throw," Lio says. 

"Yours or mine?" Galo teases. 

Lio's eyes narrow. "Throw," he growls. 

Galo grins. He raises his arm and flicks another candy Lio's way. Lio's eyes track it through the air like a predator, and there's a threat in his posture like he's trying to win a fight instead of catch a gummy shark in his mouth. And he's _so_ close, but he misses again, and the candy tumbles down his front; impulsively, Lio swats it straight to the floor, fingers closing around nothing but air. He crouches down, scoops it up, and pops it into his mouth. 

"Oh, dude, you're disgusting!" Galo exclaims, but he already has another shark ready. 

"Burnish don't waste food," says Lio. "Throw the damn thing." 

//

Eventually, the gummy shark well runs dry, and they're left with a crinkly plastic bag that Lio pockets. To his credit, Lio did catch two in a row. 

Galo carefully places the last of his folded clothes into the laundry bag and pulls the drawstrings closed, hoists it over his back. Lio throws his clothes straight from the dryer into his own bag and wraps his arms around it before joining Galo. He has to peer around the bag to see. 

"No socks left behind?" Galo asks. 

"No, get going. I'm tired and we still have to get up all those fucking stairs." 

"I can carry your bag if you want." 

Lio adjusts it in his arms. "I'm fine. Just get the door," he says. 

It's dark outside. But it's probably close to eight, Galo thinks. They got back into the city around two, maybe, helped move some bags of soil to a community garden in the Charlie district because Lio was already pretty muddy, got home, showered, bumbled through making a pizza again, then decided to do laundry. When Galo strains his memory, the time on the stove when they put the pizza in was something like six. Probably. And laundry takes a good hour and a half, for the most part, so eight feels like a good guess. 

Eight on the edge of winter means it's cold and windy. Their breath fogs in front of them. Lio is probably using the laundry bag as a buffer. Galo is grateful enough for his jacket, but he can brave some low temperatures. Plus, the apartment isn't far. A couple blocks at most. Their footsteps beat a small rhythm. 

"Gueira and Meis want us to come for dinner this weekend," says Lio, breaking the quiet. "Got a text earlier. Do you have work?" 

"I think I'm on call this weekend, but I could probably make it. They don't mind me comin' over?" 

"They invited us both. We all like you, you know." 

Galo hums. "Meis is just hard to read, ya know? Gueira, I feel like he'd tell me straight out if I did somethin' stupid. Meis seems like the kinda guy to be like, 'Oh, I'm fine,' and then he spits in my food." 

"Meis would probably spit on you, not your food," Lio says thoughtfully. "And Gueira is using they for the time being." 

"So I won't piss either of them off! What should I bring? And that's cool, I did for a little too, but just in my head."

"You don't need to bring anything," Lio says. 

"What about a board game? Make it a board game night," Galo suggests. 

"They're both terrible cheaters." 

"So? We can wipe the floor with them. I'm bringin' a game," Galo says decidedly. 

"If we lose, you owe me." 

"Owe you what?" 

Lio makes a contemplative sound in his throat. "Breakfast for a week," he says. 

"And when we win?" Galo prompts. 

"If," Lio says, "we win, I'll make breakfast for a week." 

"You're on. Hope you like makin' breakfast!" 

Lio just snorts. He shifts the bag in his arms again. Galo smiles against a warm feeling in his chest. 

It's fun. Lio is fun. Lio matches him beat for beat. Galo doesn't think he's been this happy in a while. He doesn't think Lio has either. 

A few stray snowflakes tumble down around them. They whisk up and down with the wind, melt against the sidewalk when they finally land. They stick on Lio's hair and Lio shakes them off. Galo just sticks out his tongue to catch them. 

"I don't like the snow," Lio says quietly. 

Right. 

Galo looks at him. "We're almost home! It just looks like a flurry anyway. Worse comes to worse, I'll race you home," he says. Make it a game. Make it easier, palatable, not some unfortunate natural reminder of frostbite and hypothermia. 

Lio's eyes flash. "You're on."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my idea for next chapter... eyes emoji. let's see  
> thanks for reading!!


	15. tell me we’ll never get used to it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "i didn't mean to wake you," says lio, voice rough. 
> 
> "you didn't," galo says through a yawn. he stretches his arms out in front. "can't sleep?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO  
> this is just slightly shorter than usual (sad face), i had a bad emotion day yesterday for some reason so i was very tired writing this. i wrote this thing THREE times... the first was dark, the second was this, and the third was a fusion. saving galo angst for later c;  
> BUT i think i write pretty well when i'm bad brain day, so hopefully you enjoy

Distantly, Galo realizes he's awake. It's a lazy feeling, a simple acknowledgement. No nightmare. No panic, no cold sweat. He is lying on his left side in bed, eyes still closed because maybe he can get back to sleep if he ignores being awake for long enough. 

His bed is comfortable. The blankets are sleep-warm and heavy. He rolls over onto his back, arm tingling faintly numb from lying on it for who knows how long. He keeps his eyes shut. Plausible deniability or something. He just breathes, slow and steady, trying to trick himself back to sleep. He counts the breathes to keep himself from thinking; once he starts thinking, it's over.

One. Two.

Three. Four.

The door creaks. Someone opened it more than a foot. 

Galo opens his eyes and sits up. Sleep has him adjusted to the dark, colors absent beyond impressions and deep, almost blues.

And it's Lio. 

Lio stands stockstill at the foot of the bed, shirtless. He's holding a cup. His hair is bed-messy, sweatpants rumpled. The tension in his shoulders drops after a heartbeat, just staring at each other. Lio pads over to his side of the bed, sits down. 

"I didn't mean to wake you," says Lio, voice rough. 

"You didn't," Galo says through a yawn. He stretches his arms out in front. "Can't sleep?" 

"Stomach pains." 

"You're still getting those?" 

Lio shrugs. "Less often now, but they come and go." 

"We could see a doctor, see if it's anything to worry about," Galo offers. "I'd go with you." 

"I was starving for most of my life, Galo. I'm just adjusting to regular meals. It'll take time." 

It's a cruel thing to say. 

Not because Lio is throwing words back in his face, or trying to hurt him. Lio says it without any kind of heat. There's no malice, just a simple, bland statement of fact. But the boring fact of it is cruel. Lio has had steady, reliable food access for maybe six months of his twenty something years, and Galo tries not to agonize over that. He wishes for something easier, something someone can point to and fix quickly, with no hassle. Instead, it's vague and unanswerable, and Lio handles it plainly because he's never had a choice in it. 

He never had a choice. 

Galo shakes his head. Don't think about that. He pulls in a breath too quickly and turns to Lio. "Sorry. I didn't think about that," he says. 

"It's not fun to think about. I don't blame you." 

"Is it any better now?" 

Lio crosses his legs and shifts bodily to face him, glass of water held in his hands, balanced loosely on his ankles. "Yeah. Still some minor cramps. I thought water would help. What are you doing up?" 

"I don't know. Just woke up," Galo says. 

"Feel alright?" 

"Yeah, pretty okay." 

"That's good to hear." Lio yawns. He rubs his eye with the back of his hand. "Let's go to the café in the morning. I want a toasted chocolate croissant." 

"I'm up for fancy coffee," Galo says. 

"So my coffee isn't fancy." 

"Nope, I just look forward to it every morning because it's so bad." 

"Smartass," Lio scoffs. "I'm heartbroken." 

Galo nudges Lio's knee with a loose fist. "I'll make it up to you with a toasted chocolate croissant," he says. 

"Make it two and we're even." 

"You drive a hard bargain. I can do that." 

Lio hesitates for a beat, a visible waver. His fingers drum on the glass in his hands. "It's a date," he says. Uncharacteristically uncertain. 

"It's a date," Galo agrees giddily, beaming. 

"You've dated before," Lio says. 

"A little bit in high school." Galo leans back on his hands, stretches his legs out. His chest feels like champagne bubbles. "I was never this excited about it though." 

That seems to catch Lio offguard; he lets out a breath too fast and his lips twitch a bit. "Right." 

"You've never been on a date," Galo says. 

"No. Wasn't really on my mind." Lio's smile goes wry. 

"Right." 

"But," Lio looks at his hands, eyes hidden but shy excitement obvious, "I'm- looking forward to it. Another first for me." 

There's a openness to Lio right now. Some barrier brought down by sleep and late hour; his emotions run closer to the surface, not kept as carefully under guard. Galo likes it. 

But he likes all of Lio, likes him when he's rough and edgy and swinging straight out of a nightmare, likes him when he's trying to catch gummy sharks in his mouth. Lio keeps receipts in his pocket to crinkle when he's bored, and eats dandelions straight out of the ground, and always seems to have snacks on him because whenever Galo or anyone around him is hungry he pulls food out of seemingly nowhere. He wears his hair up in half ponytails and spends the whole time blowing his bangs out of his eyes. He sits and talks Galo through Burnish card games, through panic attacks. 

Lio's just a person. He fumbles through this just like Galo is. He's not a god. He's not an idol, an ideal. He's sitting across from Galo on the bed they've shared for over half a year now, silhouetted by the dull moonlight that strikes through the curtains, and he's talking about how he's excited for his first date, and Galo loves him. 

Galo sits up. tucks his legs back in a cross in his lap. Lio is a mirror with a half empty glass of water in his hands. The room seems like it's lighter than it should be. Maybe it snowed, reflecting light back inside. 

Lio was in his head once. Lio _was_ him once, in some weird, incomprehensible way. Lio, strong enough to bond with _fire aliens_ and share that with Galo so intensely time bent and cracked like a glowstick. 

That's crazy. That's ridiculous. 

And now Lio is sitting with him in his boxers and his hair is a mess because he tosses and turns when he sleeps. Galo holds onto the painful thud of his heart, looks at Lio. 

It's not a sharp feeling, but it hurts. It's a lot. A solid, intangible ache in his chest, a fire tucked underneath his sternum that spreads lingering warmth down the whole of him. His nerves glow, eager little giggles down his spine. Galo exhales a grin. 

"I really wanna kiss you," Galo sighs. 

"Oh," says Lio. His eyes are wide. 

Galo claps his hands over his mouth. "Oh, shit, that was out loud. Fuck."

Lio reaches blindly behind him. He sets the cup down with a clink on the nightstand, then shuffles closer. His knees bump Galo's. "That was out loud," he echoes. 

Galo slowly lowers his hands. "Was that okay?" 

"I thought about it a few times." 

"Oh," Galo says.

"If you don't," Lio says like a warning, and his mouth moves to say more but the words visibly catch in his throat because Galo touches his cheek. 

And Galo doesn't really know how to go about this. He's kissed a couple people, been on a few dates, but this. This is lio. The moment feels fragile between them, some hazy form of unreality, dream pulled to life. Lio's cheek is warm against his palm, and when Galo smooths his thumb across the curve of his cheekbone, he loses his breath. The dark muddles the finer details of Lio's face, but Galo knows them all by heart anyway. He'd think Lio stoic if the bed didn't give him away; his lean in towards Galo shifts his weight, his knees pressing more along Galo's. 

That's a lot. Galo doesn't know what to do with all the affection barely contained in his skin. 

Maybe he can share it. 

Galo brings them together, uses his hand in askance to tilt Lio's head just a little. Lio's nose nudges against his into his cheek. His lips are soft, a smile shared. It's simple and easy like breathing, and maybe it's a little awkward because Lio has clearly never kissed anyone and Galo's heartbeat drowns in his ears and it takes a minute to figure out how to keep their noses from getting squashed and it's not like it's very long but. 

They fit together; Galo's palm on the angle of Lio's jaw, Lio's hands on Galo's thighs to push himself that little bit closer. It's Lio who pulls back. Dazed, Galo flinches forward, catching himself from chasing Lio too far. He feels luminescent. 

"You smell good," Lio says distractedly. He leans back in, forehead to Galo's. "Is that weird?" 

"It's my face wash," says Galo. "You can use it if you like it." 

Lio laughs; Galo's heart spasms in his chest. "I like it on you, not me." 

"Oh, whoops." 

"Now I want to kiss you," Lio says. 

"Dude, whenever you want," Galo says, and it's breathless. 

Lio nudges forward to press a smile against Galo's mouth. "I like that." 

//

Galo wakes up to sunlight. He stretches, groggy and reluctant. The bed is so comfy, and he's nice and warm, and it's definitely cold outside, and ugh.

Galo groans loudly. 

A hand smacks him across the chest. Galo yelps. 

"Some people are tryin' to sleep, asshole," grumbles Lio, like he is not entirely awake. 

"Oh, shit," Galo says. 

"Shut up. It's too early." 

Galo lifts his head. Lio is little more than a blond head and an arm sticking out of some covers, and then he pulls the arm back. Galo snorts, pats blindly at Lio's back, or maybe his chest; it's hard to tell how Lio is lying under so many blankets. 

Affection flirts in his pulse, lingers between beats like a cat weaving between his legs. Galo smiles helplessly against the feeling. 

"You're not a morning person," Galo says fondly, eyes closed. 

Lio hisses. Genuinely hisses. 

Galo struggles to hold the laughter in his chest. It bubbles up in his voice anyway. "You're like a fucking gremlin. How are we gonna get your croissants if you're like this?"

"Go get them and bring them back." 

"Demanding." 

"'m sleeping," Lio growls, muffled through the pillow. 

//

It did snow. 

Not much, just enough to coat the ground. The sky outside the café stretches soft and gray. The chill means the café is busy, crowded with people in coats and scarves looking for something hot to drink. 

He also has something warm to drink, and a coat, but no scarf. It's hard to make a scarf look cool. Galo sips his coffee, freshly made and picked up from the counter.  
Lio is sitting already at a table by the floor-to-ceiling window. His hair is half up, blond ends just brushing the fur lined collar of a very big coat. He smiles as Galo rejoins him. 

"Got your fancy coffee?" he asks. His eyes are bright. 

"Oh, yeah," Galo says, taking the chair opposite to him. "Wanna try some?" 

"Sure," Lio says. 

"It's hot." 

Galo pushes the to-go cup across the small table. Lio picks it up and blows lightly at the mouth, steam winding its way up and out. He takes a mouthful anyway, screws up his face, and holds the cup back out with a pained grimace.

"Fuck, that's hot." 

"Told ya," Galo says, mostly sympathetic. 

Lio flicks him the finger. "Drink your fancy coffee while you can," he says. 

"Dude, that sounds like such a threat." 

"Maybe it was." 

Lio rummages around the brown paper bag they handed him at the counter, fishes out a croissant. He sets it on the table, flakes already crumbling off. then he digs around again, pulls out the second, and holds it out. 

"Here," Lio says, "breakfast." 

"But I owed you two," Galo says. 

Lio gestures with the croissant. "Yeah, one for me, one I was gonna give to you after giving you a hard time." 

"You're such an asshole." Galo takes the pastry, bites into it. "Thanks for breakfast."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> galolio kiss when? galolio kiss... now
> 
> ALSO! i made a promare blog for organization :0 it's feu-etsang on tumblr if you want to say hi or talk promare (i have no one to talk promare with)


	16. i'm pulling you out of burning buildings.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> galo reflects on a few things, and they're really not things to think about

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO   
> another short one... because i am so tired. BUT now i have the set up for more ideas... there's still (hopefully) at least 4 more bits to go  
> first time we get some galo introspection in this fic!

It's Monday night, so Lio is out. It's movie night, because Gueira and Meis picked a weird night for it. They have a big group text thread about it to pick movies. They invited Galo like always but Galo has spent the last week ignoring the mounting terror in his skull and so he blurted out a lie about work and having it, and now he has the apartment to wallow in by himself. Which is good, sort of. He loves Lio, loves being around Lio, but this requires at least a few hours of sitting alone in various parts of the house and working himself in a frenzy. 

Galo is very good at this. He has practiced. A lot! 

And this past week provided even more practice, so he is especially honed at the moment, chewing on a mouthful of pizza that has been in his mouth for too long. There's some disconnect in making himself swallow. The muscles and nerves are all there, but the impulse sticks and grinds between his teeth in a flavorless paste. 

He _kissed_ Lio. Lio kissed him. They kissed a few times. They've kissed more than a few times. Galo knows about this little sound Lio makes if Galo puts his mouth on a spot under the curve of his jaw. Because they're dating now. Because Lio likes him. Because Lio asked him out on two separate occasions, because Lio knows him and _wants_ to know him. 

And holy _shit_ that is terrifying. 

Galo gives up on the pizza and spits it into the trashcan with a grimace. Pizza is a good go-to food, and he loves it, and his stomach has decided it is too nauseous for even that. Which sucks! 

It sucks. This sucks. Galo groans, kicks up a pace by the couch because that's better, he can get some of this anxious energy out. It is anxiety, frustrating and stupid. He can explain it away all he wants, but the power of it is that there's always a hint of possibility, some tiny little fragment that spins weeks and months into entirely new lights. It's not helpful, but it's not- unhelpful, either. 

Because what if it's _right_. Then he's prepared at least. Right? 

Galo is not good at people. Galo is not good with people. He is too much, too loud, too distracted, too stupid, too talkative, too impulsive. Too much, too much, too much. And that's fine! He knows he is. He is not very good at trying to be less. If he leans into the _too much_ , well, then it's just funny. It's not him anymore if he's boasting and bragging and cocksure and stupid. That's just _Galo_ , not Galo. That's not his nightmares, his interests. That's just someone else. 

But! But he's not that with Lio. Usually. He tries not to be. 

Which is where the mistake lies. Where the fear digs in, sharp talons in his gut. Even before Galo de Lion, Lio felt important. Lio spins his own sense of gravity, a weird, intoxicating charisma and charm he handles like- 

It's not a weapon. Lio is a leader. His leadership is not dangerous or ironfisted or aggressive. He holds his charm like an offering, an olive branch, and he is effortlessly confident about it. Like he has all the answers in the world and he just wants to share them, wants to connect them to others and bring everyone else into that indecipherable tangle of _something_. Galo is helpless to it, but he didn't try very hard to fight it anyway. 

He thinks about Lio in a cave in the mountains. Lio, haloed in pinks and teals softer than Galo ever imagined them being. They are knives in his memory, curved and snake-mouthed and rotting, but here, they're warmth. They're life. He thinks about decades of pain etched into Lio's young face because of these gentle colors. There's anger, and frustration, and a dizzying, overwhelming hopelessness to his eyes when he talks about- 

Talks about Kray, and the foundation, and medical experiments, and frostbitten limbs, and everything else. Galo refuses it because how could that be true? That couldn't happen. Who could do something like? But the power of it is that there's always a hint of possibility, some tiny little fragment that spins weeks and months and years into entirely new lights. It's not helpful, but it's not- unhelpful, either. 

Because what if it's _right_. Then he's prepared at least. Right? 

Right? 

Galo rubs the back of his head. his eyes are that annoying warm they get before crying. the apartment is empty besides him, so what does it matter, really. 

The point is, Lio has a hold on him. It was painless, instantaneous. It means Galo is _really_ stupid and- forgets. Forgets being too much, or too little, or too anything. He forgets the act, has to consciously pull it back up when he lets himself fall into it because people do not like Galo. They might like or tolerate _Galo_ , but Galo? Galo is too much. 

The point is, Lio has seen a lot of Galo. Technically, Lio has seen all of Galo, but Galo can't think about it. It's overwhelming, and his stomach is unsettled enough as is. But Lio has seen Galo, knows Galo, claims he wants to know Galo and not _Galo_ , and Galo's stomach twists itself into painful knots, his pulse a tangible beat in his body. 

People don't like Galo. People don't mind _Galo_ , but he doesn't have anyone to lose. 

But Galo and Lio are dating now, apparently. So Galo can lose. Galo can and will be too much, and Lio will eventually, finally recognize it, and that will be the end of that. And Galo just really needs to pace and cry all of that out in advance because he really can't do that around Lio and Lio wants to spend time with him. L io wants to spend time with him for now. He loves Lio, pictures the rest of his life with Lio in it and that's as easy as breathing. 

But holy shit, Lio will not want him in his life forever. Galo feels it in his gut like a knife and he has to stop moving. Dizzy, he leans against the back of the couch. He breathes carefully because he must have been breathing wrong. Tears cling in sticky tracks on his cheeks and Galo wipes them off with a hiccup. 

He should just go to sleep. He shouldn't be thinking about this. This is stupid. Galo rounds the couch and crawls onto it, buries his face in the cushions and lies there. His breath wobbles. His eyes burn even when he squeezes them shut. 

The braver part of him wants to blame all of this on anxiety. He's thinking of worst cases and what ifs and unknowable futures. That's anxiety talking. 

Right? 

//

The world is colorless. Gray as ash, burnt out and empty. Smoke and heat crackle in the air, in his breath. It stinks, burning flesh and hair singing in his nose. There is so much screaming it is almost quiet. Rubble and crumpled metal dig into his knees where they press into the ground. Distantly, Galo knows he's cut, bleeding, maybe enough to scar, but that's not important. 

Nothing else is important. 

Lio's eyes are closed like he's sleeping. 

He looks peaceful, lips just barely parted. There's dirt and ash on his face. His clothes are burnt, charred at new edges. When Galo shakes him, he is limp and pliable. Lifeless. His chest is still. 

Galo aches. He feels hollowed, eviscerated. breathing hurts. His skin hurts, bruises shattered deep into muscle and fat. He can't think. He can barely see. He can't hear over the blood roaring in his ears and thousands of _help me_ , _help me_ , _help me_ , _mom, I'm scared_ , please. Somewhere, his parents are screaming too. He shoves his palms into Lio's chest hard, desperate, panic numbing his fingers. Ribs and cartilage bend and threaten to crush under the force. He watches the end of Lio's arm - because his hand is gone up past the elbow, the fine bones in his wrist dusted - disintegrate into gray. 

There's a fire in his hand. Unthinking, Galo pushes it behind his teeth and holds it there. 

And then it's gone. 

It dies between his lips. Panic floods his throat, scalds his tongue. His eyes burn; tears track dirty trails down his face, and he can't get the spark back. He throws all his weight into his palms on Lio's chest, desperately tries to push air and fire and life back into his lungs, and-

A hand touches his shoulder. 

Galo flinches awake. He's still on the couch. The apartment is dark. Lio is standing next to him. his hair is down and wind-messy, and there's enough light to see the flush to his cheeks from the cold, and he's in the same clothes Galo saw him in earlier. He's alive and well. He's safe. He is not dead in some metal prison, tied together with barbed wire. His mouth is moving. 

Oh, shit, Lio's mouth is moving. 

Galo blinks hard, scrubbing the nightmare out of them. He contains the tremor deep in his muscles. "What?" he croaks. 

"Move over," Lio says, pushing a little on his shoulder. 

"Huh?" 

"I wanna lie down. Move over." 

Too disoriented to argue, Galo shuffles the few inches he can closer to the back of the couch. There is not much space. Lio makes himself fit anyway, nestles along the curve of Galo's back like he's supposed to be there. He has to mold himself to Galo, and it's cramped, but Lio doesn't seem to notice. He throws an arm over Galo. His face is pressed against his back; Galo feels his breath through his shirt. 

"We missed you tonight," Lio says, muffled. "Gueira and Meis wanted to show off their new TV." 

"I was busy," Galo says, when he trusts his voice enough. "Next time." 

"Get your work done?" 

"Mostly." 

Lio shifts and somehow he's closer, squashing Galo between himself and the couch. "That's good. It's so fucking cold out." 

"Snowing still?" Galo asks. 

"No, but cold as balls," says Lio. "But you're nice and warm." 

"I was sleeping." 

Lio yawns, an audible little noise. "I know. But you sleep better around people. Now we're sleeping," he says. 

"We could just go to bed," Galo says. 

"I don't wanna get up now." 

"Don't blame me when you fall off the side later," Galo warns. 

"Don't worry, I'll take you down with me." 

Galo's heart beats a wild rhythm in his chest. Guilt tangles up in his stomach. Like he's doing something wrong, something, anything, everything, and really, he probably is. He does so many things wrong. What is he even doing? 

He jams his eyes shut. There's a soreness there, earlier crying dissolved to an ache. He can't start crying again with Lio here. He's fine. Go to sleep. Lio is a warm presence against his back. The tops of his thighs against the backs of Galo's, his arm around Galo's waist, body heat plain and unobtrusive. It feels like always. Like sharing a bed that's now just _their_ bed and not Galo's that he shares. Maybe they don't always sleep so close together, but. 

God, he loves Lio. 

He's not crying. He's not. 

"Hey, Galo?" Lio's voice is soft. 

Galo makes a questioning noise. His breathing is unsteady, unable to shape into words. 

"I've got your back, you know." 

That's. 

Okay. Galo can't help himself; he barks a rough laugh like gravel on concrete, shakes briefly with it. He pats Lio's hand where it lays over his stomach. "This is no time for puns, asshole. Go to sleep," Galo says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poor galo i'm mean


	17. how I ruined everything by saying it out loud.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> galo wins his smiles and pulls on his optimism and his boots and gets through it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO   
> i was very worried i had lost my motivation because i had written what i originally set out to do (galolio kiss)... but i did not! i'm determined to get to 20 chapters. i will do it  
> alternate title for this chapter is "galo has anxiety"

The feeling doesn't go away. Fear fidgets just under his skin, anxiety prickling the hair on the back of his neck. But it's familiar and lazy and Galo has pushed down much worse to get through the day. If he can feign normality when all he can think about otherwise is his parents burning alive and all of the screaming through fire snapping and buildings crumbling then he can do it for this. 

Galo wins his smiles and pulls on his optimism and his boots and gets through it. 

He doesn't think about anything. He keeps his mind empty, and when the station gets called, it's only adrenaline shivering through his muscles. He sleeps in the bunks and he tries to convince himself he is not avoiding Lio. 

//

The feeling doesn't go away. It's frustrating, but Galo has never found a good way to rip it out of him. Fear fidgets just under his skin, anxiety prickling the hair on the back of his neck. But it's familiar and lazy and Galo has pushed down much worse to get through the day. If he can feign normality when all he can think about otherwise is his parents burning alive and all of the screaming through fire snapping and buildings crumbling then he can do it for this. 

Galo wins his smiles and pulls on his optimism and his boots and gets through it. 

He doesn't think about anything. He keeps his mind empty, and when the station gets called, it's only adrenaline shivering through his muscles. He lingers up the staircase with moonlight dripping in through the windows, and Lio is already asleep when he finally falls into bed. 

If Galo gets to work earlier than usual, no one says anything. 

//

The feeling doesn't go away. Fear fidgets just under his skin, anxiety prickling the hair on the back of his neck. But it's familiar and lazy and Galo has pushed down much worse to get through the day. If he can feign normality when all he can think about otherwise is his parents burning alive and all of the screaming through fire snapping and buildings crumbling then he can do it for this. 

Galo wins his smiles and pulls on his optimism and his boots and gets through it. 

He doesn't think about anything. He keeps his mind empty, and he focuses intensely on cleaning his gear because he doesn't actually have a shift today but he did have to get this done. That's all it is. 

//

Galo wakes up with guilt creeping up his limbs like honeysuckle. He can hear the shower running, and the space next to him in bed is empty. He covers his eyes with a forearm and tries to breathe. 

He can't remember how long it's been since he felt some semblance of okay. He's barely seen Lio for days, probably. And maybe that's not entirely out of the ordinary because they both have weird schedules and they aren't attached at the hip, but. 

He feels bad about it. It sharpens the fear already lodged in his lungs. There's no getting it out. He doesn't have the right space, operating rooms all booked up and no surgeons available to slice the cancer free. He might actually have to do something about it, or mention a solo trip out to the mountains to Lio so he can at the very least exhaust the feeling out of himself. 

Galo groans. 

This _sucks_. He is not going to think about it. He'll find something to do today. Maybe there's laundry. Or grocery shopping. Maybe he can clear the room or the kitchen or something. Hopefully Lio will be out of the house soon and Galo can sulk in peace. 

That's not fair. Lio is great. Lio is very nice, and he is a good friend, and he asked Galo out for a date because- 

Nope. Galo presses his arm against his face, a dull ache on the bridge of his nose. Stop thinking. Stop thinking about Lio. 

"You getting out of bed today?" asks Lio. 

Fucker. 

Galo lowers his arm. Lio's at the foot of the bed, rubbing a towel over his head. His blond hair fluffs up and sticks out in places. He's shirtless with sleep shorts pulled high on his waist, and he's a little pink from the shower. He always showers with the water too hot. Galo's heart spasms; he covers his eyes again. 

"Nope," Galo mutters. 

Something hits his feet. "And here I was going to invite you to lunch," Lio says. 

"I can't move." 

"You can't be that sore." Cloth rustles; Lio is probably getting dressed. "I can grab some ibuprofen." 

"I'm fine, I'm not sore." 

"Just tired?" 

Galo swallows. "Yeah," he says. 

"Work's been keeping you busy recently," Lio says casually. "I don't blame you. I could order lunch in if you want." 

"You don't have to do that for me, Lio. Go enjoy your day. I'll find shit to eat," says Galo, trying to tamp down the rising panic in his throat. 

Why is he doing this now? Stop it. Nothing's happening. 

The bed creaks and shifts slightly. Galo peeks against his better judgement; Lio is sitting on his side of the bed. His eyebrows are drawn together with that infuriatingly little line between them. It says _I'm worried about you_. It says _I care about you_. It says _one day I won't_. 

Lio leans over and flattens his palm to Galo's forehead. "Are you getting sick?" 

"I'm just tired, dude, don't worry about me." Galo swats his arm away, sticks out his tongue. 

"Your eyes look glassy," Lio says. 

Traitors, Galo thinks. He stretches, exaggerates a yawn. "I have two glass eyes, actually," he says. 

"You're being kind of a dick," Lio says mildly, like he is just talking about the weather. 

"You're being nosy." 

That changes something. Lio's expression shutters, closes off. It's subtle but Galo knows him well enough to spot it.

"Sorry. I'll leave you alone then," says Lio. He makes to stand. 

Shit. 

Impulsively, Galo sits up and grabs Lio's arm. Lio blinks at him. 

_Shit_ , what is he doing? He wanted Lio to leave. He doesn't want to bother Lio, doesn't want to give him any more fodder to hate him with. Because Lio will eventually. Galo knows it. He's so sure. 

Galo takes a deep breath and it hurts. The exhale wobbles. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to be a dick. I just- there's a lot, and I'm really tired, and- that's it," Galo says. 

"You know I'm here," Lio says. His expression doesn't change but his eyes flicker, searching Galo's face. "Spark and flame, right?

"I know that." Galo grimaces. "I know that. But." 

"But," says Lio. 

"I'm- not good at this." 

"At what." 

Galo gestures between them. "At. Me. You. At people. At being, like, normal about shit, I don't know." 

Lio's eyebrows pull together more. "What aren't you being normal about?" he asks. 

Galo groans, fits his hands into his hair. He pulls on his mohawk. What is he doing. He should not be doing this. This is a terrible idea. He is overdramatic and stupid and people just do not like him and Lio does now for some reason and that is so confusing and scary and Galo really just wants to throw up. His scalp stings, fingernails scratching. 

He breathes out slowly. He looks at Lio's forehead because that's easier. He can do that. 

"You really just want the play," Galo says. 

"What?" 

The words come out in a rush. Galo hears himself talk like he's far away, a can-and-string conversation. 

"I'm an idiot and- you'll want to move out at some point and you won't want to eat pizza every day and you definitely won't want to see me all the time. I'm funny when you need a laugh and I can sort of make pancakes but that's really kind of it for me, and I don't- I don't want you feel guilty when it happens. Like it's fine. I'm okay. This," Galo wipes tears off of his face, gestures vaguely at them, "This just happens. Sorry. I'm really okay. I really just want you to be happy so it's okay if you want to leave." 

Galo's heart stops in his chest. There's a second where the realization hits him and he slaps his hands over his mouth and stares wide-eyed at Lio because _shit_. _Shitfuck_. 

Lio just looks- hurt, almost. Wounded. Maybe? Galo can't tell. Crying makes his vision a little blurry and he's shaking and he really cannot tell what Lio is thinking about this insane eruption of word vomit. 

Why does he try talking? What was he thinking? He should've gone to the lake and dealt with himself, worn himself down to the bone with exhaustion until he couldn't think anyway, processed all the fear into something digestible. 

"Galo, I... I'm not. Great at putting feelings into, well," Lio clears his throat, "words. And I'm not. Hang on. Give me a second." 

Galo nods. "Take your time," he says through his hands, voice wavering. 

There's a pause. Galo tries desperately not to read into the silence. He can see Lio thinking, watches his mouth move just barely like he practicing the words before putting his voice behind them. 

Then, Lio shifts to sit directly facing him. Not just sitting on the side of the bed with his body turned to him. Lio gives his full attention, intense and overwhelming and- uncharacteristically hesitant. Nervous. He tucks a stray lock of hair behind his ear and visibly pulls in a breath. 

"I don't- know what I did that made you think that," Lio says. "And-"

"Oh my God, you didn't do anything," Galo interrupts. "Fuck. I just- this is just me! I've definitely been having a panic attack for like, at least a week." 

"Galo-"

"Sorry, oh my God. You talk. I'll shut up." 

Lio's expression is soft. He looks vulnerable, open, and he smiles and it's just north of sad. "You're worried about losing someone again, right?" he asks quietly, a mote of understanding. 

Galo nods, words strangled in his throat. Something visibly relaxes in Lio, some knot of tension Galo didn't recognize or maybe Lio was just hiding it really well. 

"I don't know the future," Lio says. He touches Galo knee and it's gentle, a simple point of reassurance. "But I feel like- I have one. When I'm with you, Galo. And- I selfishly don't want to let that go. And if something happened- I'd. I wouldn't just run away from that. From you." 

"What?" Galo whispers. 

"You know I'm stubborn. I don't give up on anything. I want this - us - to work because I love you. Just talk to me so I can help." 

"Oh." 

The panic runs out of fuel like a fire. It sputters, kicks a last-ditch burst of adrenaline into his blood and keeps him trembling until he forces himself to stop. Lio's hair is still wet from the shower and messy from his towel. He smells a little like toothpaste and vaguely floral, and he's just sitting there, like Galo is not too much. Like he wants to be there, like he's supposed to be. 

"Yeah, oh," Lio laughs bashfully. He squeezes Galo's leg, pats him then lets go. "I mean that. And I really can't say it again so please don't ask, I think I'm having a heart attack too." 

"I know CPR," Galo says nonsensically, dazed. 

"Does that do anything for a heart attack?" 

"I have no idea." 

Lio snorts. "Some emergency responder you are," he says, eyes light. 

"I love you too," Galo echoes. He rubs the back of his head, sheepish. "Sorry for freaking out." 

"I've freaked out on you before. It'll happen." 

Galo sniffles, wipes at his face furiously. He pulls the collar of his shirt up and smudges off tears. "Is your lunch offer still on the table?" His voice is still fragile, but maybe that's okay.

Lio rests a hand on his knee again and leans in, presses soft lips to Galo's forehead. "Of course. Let's go get lunch."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am a big fan of love as something simultaneously very simple and very grandiose because i think that's what it is ! enjoy my goofy metaphors


	18. i say them very quietly.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's weird. the feeling of it is a drink gone flat, still the same taste but not quite right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO  
> my brain did Not want to write this :,( i lost track of where i wanted to go. i wrote this like five times  
> BUT i think i have an idea for next chapter. i'm considering this a transitional chapter
> 
> also small warning for needle talk after the second // !

So they get lunch. It's snowing too much so Lio orders delivery from the ramen shop Gueira and Meis have been raving about, mostly because they saw a raccoon outside of it once, and the snow-dusted delivery guy meets them in the lobby with a brown paper bag. He's nice enough not to comment on Galo's red-rimmed eyes; holding a cold washcloth to them only helped so much. 

They go back up. Lio removes a few of his coats. They eat, and it's good. Galo recognizes it's good but. 

He feels- 

Something. 

He does feel okay, but there's something else there that's harder to name. Sort of hollow, not quite stale but bland, energy evaporated, but okay nonetheless. That earlier fear shrunk to a numb knot behind his ribs. It isn't gone. Galo doesn't know if it will ever go away. It's like a mold, sort of, like cutting the fuzzy piece out of a bread but it's already permeated through, microscopic damage done. Lio may have scalded it down, panic beaten back, but he's still going to have to bake a new loaf. 

It's weird. The feeling of it is a drink gone flat, still the same taste but not quite right. Galo eats lunch, laughs at them both sitting at the counter noisily slurping broth and noodles, talks about things Lio talks about, and feels weird. Just going through the motions. 

He doesn't know if Lio notices. He doesn't know if Lio noticed him acting weird all those days before. That's not to fault him, denounce him as unaware or unempathetic or uncaring; Galo just doesn't know. He wasn't around much, which was normal, and he's pretty good at acting unbothered, and Lio is better at picking up chronic issues than crises, better at broader emotional scopes than the randomness and capriciousness of a single person's feelings. He's sure Lio doesn't think he just rebounded back to perfect after being all weepy, but. 

But maybe Lio does notice. Galo only consciously processes half of what he's saying, catches strange, disconnected facial expressions like Lio moves in stop-motion. Maybe Lio knows he's being weird and is just talking about whatever because he wants Galo to feel like that's okay. Like Galo is far away and if Lio just keeps talking he'll come back eventually. 

Lio's new thing is ghost shows. Paranormal series. The ones where they show shaky videos and point out cryptids and UFOs and aliens. He can't decide between laughing at them - because some are ridiculous and just videos of bears or whatever, and Lio literally lived connected to aliens for something like a decade - and taking them seriously - because Lio literally lived connected to aliens for something like a decade. That's what he's talking about, and it's interesting because Lio is really into it. 

And Lio's usually pretty quiet. He'll talk, sure, but he's not talkative. His voice is soft and changes a little when he talks for longer, like he isn't quite used to it and his voice needs to catch up. Galo loves listening to him. 

If he stops listening, he can hear his parents. Sometimes they're just talking. Sometimes it's just screaming. Galo tries not to focus on it, but he can't focus on anything. He's a little dizzy. 

But he likes Lio a lot. He liked Lio since they first fought, really. That's probably weird. Lio showed up in a burning building in a suit made out of living fire, which reasonably sounds like a nightmare to Galo, but then Lio just met him head-on. This unknown, faceless guy. No laughing at how he talks, no decrying his methods, just matched skill for skill. And he _talked_ to Galo. Galo asked him questions and Lio answered, didn't call him stupid for not knowing. Called him out when he _was_ being an ass. Lio just meets him in the middle, has since the beginning. It was probably more respect at first, meeting an equal, meeting someone who actually treated him as an equal, but Galo definitely loves him. Loves him as the whole complicated person he is, not as some romantic ideal. It's not about that. 

But god, Galo feels weird. Half awake. 

A hand touches his shoulder. 

Galo jumps. His heart kicks like a rabbit in his chest. Something metallic clatters. "What?" 

"You okay?" 

"Huh?" His tongue feels thick behind his teeth. Galo swallows, pushes hands through his hair and holds them there. He blinks, looks at Lio. "What?" 

Lio's expression is- something. Galo can't tell. He can't tell. Lio keeps his hand on Galo's arm. "Hey, Galo. What color is my hair?" he asks. 

"Oh, man, I don't know if I can answer that." 

"Okay, bad question," Lio says. He looks around. "What are we eating?" 

"Lunch," Galo says. He knows that. They got lunch. 

"That's right. What did we get for lunch?" 

Something about raccoons. But that doesn't sound right. People don't eat raccoons. Or maybe some people do. Galo looks down at the counter. Lio has a bowl in front of him with chopsticks balanced on top. Galo has a bowl too. 

Fuck. Right. "Noodles. Uh. Ramen." 

Lio smiles a little. "Yep. And where are we?" 

"We're in the kitchen," says Galo. He takes an easier breath, heart not pounding enough to make him dizzy. "We're at home. Did we- we didn't go out for lunch, right?" 

Lio shakes his head. "Too snowy," he says. 

Galo pulls on his mohawk, squeezes his eyes shut for a beat. "Sorry. I went really in my head there." 

"Did you hear me before?" 

"Before? Uh, before what?" 

"I said your name a couple times," Lio says, patting him once on the shoulder. "You didn't react." 

"Whoops." Galo grimaces. "Sorry." 

"Feeling any better?" 

"Maybe?" 

"Can you use chopsticks lefthanded?" asks Lio, which is a strange question. 

Galo moves them to his left hand, and it's weird. He can sort of manage the right hold, but it's not confident or smooth. He looks at Lio. "Like this?" 

"Exactly," says Lio. 

"Why? Are you ambidextrous or somethin'?" 

Lio's hand leaves his shoulder, nudges Galo's right hand until he can slot their fingers together. He squeezes. "No. I just thought this might help you stay out of your head," Lio says. 

"How'd you always know what to do when I'm-" Galo gestures vaguely. "The question thing always gets me." 

"My mom used to do the same thing." 

"The question thing?" 

"No," Lio says before biting into half of a soft-boiled egg. "She'd get in her head too. More than you do. She and my dad lived through the great blaze, but her life wasn't great before it either. Even before she was Burnish." 

"Oh." 

"She just needed help sometimes. So do you. So do I," Lio says, like it is that simple. 

Galo smiles. "Thanks, Lio." 

//

Galo feels more like himself. He goes into the station for a morning shift and enjoys the snow crunching under his boots, and it's that simple. 

//

Alcohol pad. Syringe. Needles. Testosterone vial. Bandaid with firetrucks on it. 

All checks! Galo stands in front of the bathroom counter, hands on his hips. He feels even more like himself today, soul filled out neatly to the tips of his fingers and toes. He's freshly showered, sore muscles calmed by the hot water, and he's got the day shift again today, and it's shot day. All good things! 

Not that shots are great, but Galo is a certified paramedic. He's done IVs in moving vehicles before! Hell, he bodyslammed a dragon literally made out of fire. That's not part of being a paramedic, but still. He can handle a little subcutaneous injection.

"Hey, Galo?" Lio calls through the bathroom door. 

Galo grimaces. 

But Lio can't. Lio shares the same disconnect in his gender that Galo has, excluded from traditional manhood and, really, personhood; they've talked about it plenty of times, stayed up late because it's just nice to have someone who understands. It's not about the whole transness of it. 

Lio barely tolerated a couple vaccines. He gets quiet and edgy around anything medical, like he does around the freezer or when someone serves him ice in a drink. There's a split second flash of Lio's face, the agony obvious in every inch of him saying _he dissects us._

Galo shakes his head. Stop thinking. Bad thoughts. He's not going to get stuck again. "Doin' my shot, what's up?" he calls back. 

"Can I come in?" 

"Uh." Galo stares at the door, then quickly shovels everything back into its box. He hops up on the counter to hide it behind him. "Sure! Go ahead." 

Lio peeks his head in first before opening the door the whole way, which is really cute. He's bundled up in at least three layers. Galo makes out a hoodie, a jean jacket, and a bomber jacket. He has a pom-pom hat and gloves in his hands, and the ends of thick leggings stuffed into his usual chunky boots. Galo can't help beaming. 

"Howdy!" says Galo. 

"Don't you start too," Lio groans. "Meis is the worst." 

"It's fun! Like a cowboy. I don't know shit about cowboys. I was into samurais as a kid." 

"You'll have to tell about samurais sometime because I don't know what that is," Lio says. "Not right now. I'm going to a soup kitchen with a few others. I'll be back later." 

"I have a shift today so I won't be back until probably after dinner," Galo says with a shrug. 

"If I'm back first, I'll leave a plate out." 

"Same!" 

"When's your shift?" 

Galo flicks his wrist up to check. He doesn't wear a watch. Why does he do that? "Once I do my shot I'm headin' out," he says.

Lio's expression changes minutely. Galo can't quite piece it together. "Ouch," is all he says. 

"It's not so bad! I barely feel anything. The needle's-" Galo says. But Lio doesn't want to hear about it; Galo pulls a guilty face. "Ack. Sorry. Go have a good day! I'm all good here." 

"Right," says Lio. 

But he doesn't move. He just stands there, wavering, like he's not sure which way to go. Galo watches him open his mouth and close it, then take a deep breath. There's a wariness in his eyes like a cornered big cat. 

"What- what do you have to do. For it," Lio says haltingly. 

Galo almost wants to cry. He tamps down the affection bubbling in his chest and fumbles the box into his hands. "I, uh. I just have to pull up some T- some testosterone, that's a hormone- and I have to use a needle - not a big one! - to get it into some fat because it can't get into my cells really well otherwise," Galo explains. 

"And it doesn't hurt," says Lio. 

"Well, okay, it's still a needle, but I barely felt it when I first started and now I'm so used to it it's nothin'." 

"Right." 

Lio hovers still. He's clearly curious, but Galo remembers the nightmares Lio had after seeing a doctor once. He doesn't want to push it. 

"Everything's still in the wrappers if you want to look at it," Galo offers. 

"I don't..." Lio trails off and takes a few steps closer in contradiction. "I'm just looking." 

"Just lookin'!" Galo agrees. 

He holds out the box, lifts up the bits Lio points at. Lio goes a little pale even at the sight of the syringe with no needle attached, and his breathing is carefully measured, but he's trying. He doesn't try to touch anything. His eyes stay on the box, which seems like an improvement from the panicked back-and-forth at the clinic. Eventually, Lio takes a few steps back, an arm held protectively near his stomach. 

"I don't like needles," Lio says quietly. "But. I appreciate you letting me. See it. It's important to you."

"No problem! If it helps make it less," Galo gestures, "big? In your head, that's good." 

"How do you get that box?" 

"The box? Oh, I got it at the store." 

Lio closes his eyes for a beat. "I meant the. Inside the box. Gueira was talking about it," he says. 

"Oh. Duh." Galo baps himself on the forehead. "Doctor writes a note, I take that to the pharmacy, they hand it over. Pharmacy's got everything." 

"Right."

"You good?" 

Lio nods. "Yeah. I'm gonna go. Good luck with your shot," he says. 

"Thanks! Good luck at the kitchen." 

"Thanks," says Lio, still unmoving. 

Galo sets the box back down on the counter. He looks back at Lio, who doesn't seem to know how his legs work. 

"Wanna goodbye kiss?" Galo asks. 

That's all it takes; Lio is back at his side, a hand on the counter by Galo's thigh to support his lean. He has to stretch a little to reach, and Galo puffs out a laugh and leans forward to meet him. Lio's lips are soft and press enough mint against Galo's to tingle. 

The heels of Lio's boots make a small noise when they reconnect with the floor. His hand is still on the counter, hip against Galo's knee. Galo just beams, chest tight with affection. He reaches out and tucks Lio's hair behind his ear, watches in delight as pink blooms across his cheeks. 

"Couldn't get myself to do it," Lio whispers. 

Galo presses a smile to Lio's cheek. "Go get out of here, loser. I'll see ya later," he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> needed Something done so i can get to the next part... if i am dying again, i'll go back to lio pov, sorry galo


	19. you want a better story. who wouldn’t?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> galo knows it's bad when he wakes up to a single text from ignis a few hours before his shift.
> 
> you have the day off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO  
> im very tired. i was going to put more on this and then i did not  
> warning for this chapter is there is kray talk. but also this whole fic is about processing trauma, so like. you know

Galo knows it's bad when he wakes up to a single text from Ignis a few hours before his shift.

 _You have the day off._

That's funny. He swears his left arm hurts, just a little. Some vague, dull burn like the nerves are flaring up, like a sunburn stretched over the skin. He stares at it, sitting up in bed with blankets in his lap, when Lio comes in holding his phone. His expression is blank. Galo tries to put a name to it, needing _something_ , and he comes up short. 

"Come watch," Lio says. "Then we'll go." 

//

A reporter announces that the principal actors of the Foresight Foundation are found guilty on- 

Dozens of counts. 

He doesn't register all the charges. There are a lot. Dizzying. Overwhelming. His stomach riots at the bland list of it, atrocities neatly packaged up and doled out. They let all of this happen. _Galo_ watched it happen, watched them use a man like a battery until he was literally wasting away. 

Galo doesn't see anything else. 

//

Until he does. 

His vision returns with a sickening jolt. He doubles over, catches himself on a- tree? There's a tree. There are hands on him. What? 

Galo spits an excess of saliva, nausea high in his throat. He breathes in through his mouth and it's cold enough that his lungs sting on the first few inhales. His breath swirls in a fog just in front of him. He blinks to a snow-dusted landscape, patches of frozen dirt and rocks and pine needles breaking through the uneven white of it. Mountains rear up along the horizon. The trees clutch onto snow like they need it, the wind stealing bits and pieces in little flurries. 

A few yards out, the lake lays still and flat. The surface shines, undisturbed by the wind. Snowdrifts mark the edges, mark jagged lines up and down the ice where it didn't freeze all at once. 

It's Lio's hands on him. One on his arm, one on his back, trying to steady him when he snapped back into himself. Galo looks at him, and it hurts. 

Lio's face is flushed red from the cold. But he's as blank as before. His expression is empty, a hollow to be impressed upon. Whatever Lio thinks or feels is gone. 

"You don't want to sit," says Lio, pushing on him until he can stand again. "The ground will suck the warmth out of you. Stay up." 

"How did we get here?" Galo asks. His voice sounds almost different. 

"I drove. I didn't know where else to go." 

Galo glances over his shoulder and- there's his bike. The road up through the mountains is stark black behind it. Footprints lead up to them from behind and go no further than they do. Lio takes a step and it continues the path, untracked and cold. 

It's cold. It's winter. They're in the mountains, where it can snow regardless of the time of year, even if it prefers the winter. Of course it's cold. Galo shoves his hands into his coat pockets and follows Lio to the edge of the lake. 

The wind whistles, birdlike and fluting. Above them, the sky is a soft expanse of gray, barely darker than the snow cottoned over the valley. 

"We needed to get out of there," says Lio after a heartbeat. He is looking out over the lake, not at Galo. "I wanted to get you out. I didn't know where else to go." 

"Here's fine," Galo says distantly. 

It's pointless, but it's something. He rolls his shoulders, kicks a tall shard of ice where it daggers up against a rock. 

"Pretty fucked up," says Galo. 

"It's not everything," Lio says, and there's a fatigue to his voice when he does. Hopeless. "But it's something. He'll rot. They all will." 

"I still miss him." It doesn't register until he says it. Galo jams his eyes shut. He grips his mohawk, fingernails scrapping his scalp. "Which is kinda fucked up. Sorry. Nevermind." 

He doesn't know if Lio reacts. doesn't know if Lio is looking at him, disgusted by the admission, or if Lio is just... tired. Galo is standing next to him talking about how he misses the man who orchestrated the end of the world, and Lio just doesn't react. The snow doesn't crunch, no rustle of fabric. There's the sound of the wind singing high in the trees and over the flat of the lake and that's it. 

Hesitant, a fist bumps his side. Galo ignores his pulse thudding loud in his ears and dares to look. 

Lio's arm falls back to his side. He sighs a small cloud, shifts his weight in his hips, crosses his arms. The ends of his hair curl over the fur-lined hood of his coat. He flicks a glance at Galo, pale eyes shiny and threatening tears. 

"I know how you feel," Lio says. 

That stings, embarrassment and guilt scalding down his veins. 

That weird, expressionless look wasn't grief, or anger, or anything. It was nothing, plain and boring, for Galo's sake. It's that weird tangle of empathy. Galo knows it, recognizes the dull ache in his chest like an old wound. How a split-second connection seven odd months ago can twist and knot so much is- strange. The memories are hazy but unmistakeable. He knows every hurt Lio has, down to the boring minutia of it. and Lio knows his, knows all those stupid conflicting feelings because Kray was - is, was, _is?_ important to him, not really a father figure but a guardian angel, almost, a constant and an ideal and an everything. Galo bounced from foster home to foster home for _behavioral issues_ after his family and home burned to the ground, grief and trauma wound up tight like springs and snapping every so often, but Kray was always there. 

No one needed to pay attention to the kid he saved, the weird, impulsive _tomboy_ turned real boy. Kray was heroic and brave, sure, but beyond a few talk shows and public appearances, Galo could be swept aside. He was hardly the focal point. He was defined by being saved. Who needed to hear about him otherwise? It didn't matter if he worked hard, studied until he wanted to pull out his own hair, scrambled to do anything to be recognized as himself. He was always just going to be the poor little orphan Kray foresight saved. 

But Kray saw something in him. Kray thought he was good, and brave, and strong, and smart. Kray advocated for him, did everything to get him into an _elite_ team because that was just how much promise he could see in Galo. 

Galo was just blind. He ignored all the warning signs. He can't even remember if there were warnings in the first place. He just wanted to live up to Kray, find some way out of his shadow that wasn't just Kray pulling him up. 

Kray just wanted him dead.

 _Of course_ Kray was terrible. Galo knows that. Lio told him and Galo didn't want to believe it but he _did_ and he asked because he needed Kray to tell him Lio was wrong and- 

He didn't. He said, showed, offered a fucking demonstration, all to Lio's point. He made no attempt to deny it, no attempt to slide the blade in gently. Kray said _I've considered every angle, and the one I want to take is death._

God, Kray wanted him dead. Kray tried to kill him. 

Galo tries to choke it down and it doesn't work; a sob wrenches itself out of his chest, crumbles his knees. The cold soaks in down his shins, skin and muscle too numb to care about the rocks digging in at odd angles beyond a few signals of pressure. Distantly, he's aware of Lio grabbing his arm, a sensation of pulling, but he just shakes his head. 

"He tried to kill me," someone says, and it's broken, quiet. Galo isn't sure who it is. 

He tried to kill so many people. Who cares about one person? 

"Galo, you need to stand up." 

That's Lio. Lio's voice is strong and soft, even now. Knowing that Kray and hundreds of others have committed atrocities that will go unrecognized even while others are. The tip of the iceberg, everything else keep neatly hidden. 

But the hands on Galo are shaking. 

Galo drags his forearm over his eyes, pulling salt across the skin. His heart spasms and threatens another sob, but he bites it back. He clasps a hand onto Lio's and climbs back to his feet. Lio doesn't let him go, yanks on his arm to make Galo face him, and his eyes are sharp and intense and for a moment Galo and the air between them are _burning_ from it, hotter than dragonfire, and- 

Lio hugs him. 

Lio hugs him like he's desperate, like he's dying. He's shaking with something barely, barely contained and Galo doesn't think, just throws his own arms around Lio tight enough that it hurts. He buries his face in Lio's shoulder and breathes, the inhale trembling and uncertain. 

"I'm sorry," rasps Lio, voice raw. 

Galo laughs, but it comes out wrong. He's crying again. "What the fuck are you apologizing for? Don't." 

"For everything." 

"You didn't do anything," Galo says. 

"Neither did you," Lio says fiercely. His grip around Galo tightens. "You had nothing to do with it." 

"Shouldn't we be happy?" 

It earns him a laugh from Lio, but it's humorless, fatigued. "I _am_ happy, Galo. They'll all rot. I'm just fucking pissed." 

"But you're crying." 

"I don't know why. That's your fault. These are yours." 

"I'm sorry," Galo whispers. 

Lio thuds a fist against his back. "They deserve every shitty thing that happens to them. You can be conflicted, but know that. They don't deserve your forgiveness or your love." 

"I know," Galo says. He believes it. He wants to believe that. He will. He will. "I just- I thought- I didn't have anyone else. He- he was it for me. And now- I don't-" 

"I know." 

"And he killed you. You were dead." 

"You saved me," Lio says, the words warm against Galo's collarbone. 

"You saved me first," Galo says. "He would've burned me alive if you hadn't." 

"I got your back." 

"You missed it," says Galo, and all he can see is Lio's face cold and empty of color, "but I did punch him in the face." 

Lio barks a laugh. "I know! I fucking wish I saw! Good!" 

"We'll be okay," Galo says. He needs to say it.

"We'll be okay," Lio agrees softly. He squeezes his arms around Galo, lets out a breath in the shape of a smile. "We have to do laundry soon."

"Fuck you, don't remind me." 

Lio laughs. He pats Galo on the back and pulls away slightly. It's not enough to break the hug, but they're no longer crushed against each other. There are dried tears just under Lio's eyes, long eyelashes clumped together. That blank expression is gone. He's not quite open, but there's emotion in his face again, a mess of vindication and guilt and happiness and fear. 

"We've got people on our side," Galo says. 

Because that's what this means. It means that, even with years of conditioning and manipulation, the people around them can see that what happened was wrong. It should not have happened. They looked at the whole horrifying mess of it and finally said _no_. And of course there are still people on Kray's side, people with trust in the foundation, but- a not so small part just declared the lot of them guilty and wrong. 

"We have people on our side," Lio echoes, something close to giddy. 

"We should get, like, a pinata or something," Galo says. "Shaped like Kray. So you can beat the shit out of him." 

"Meis is already on it. We're throwing a party." 

"Oh, shit." 

Lio pats his forearm. "You don't have to come if you don't want to," he says. 

"Can I hit the Kray pinata?" 

"Only if you show me how you punched his stupid fucking face," says Lio. 

"That's a deal," Galo says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it will end on a happy note i promise!!!!


	20. this counts for something.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it has to be perfect. it does. doesn't it? and that is sort of a problem. wanting this thing to be perfect. that makes this so much harder. if it's not perfect, then he's a failure, then he's letting him down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO it's been a hot second huh ;;  
> this chapter fought me. work takes up my time. no big warnings for this, i think! just a nice big wrap-up c:

The thing is. 

The thing about it is. 

The whole thing _is_. 

It has to be perfect. It does. Doesn't it? And that is sort of a problem. Wanting this thing to be perfect. That makes this so much harder. If it's not perfect, then he's a failure, then he's letting him down. 

The pressure of it is familiar, sort of. Galo has never had to be _perfect_. No one expected Galo to be perfect. He wanted to be sometimes, but that was never a burden stacked weighty on his shoulders. Galo has only ever tried to be _good enough_. Good enough for attention, for respect, for love, for whatever. 

Lio shows him that he doesn't have to try. He still does, because it's ingrained, because it's instinct and it's built into the calcium in his bones, but sometimes, he recognizes that he doesn't have to try. Lio loves him, respects him, without Galo jumping through hoops or maintaining an image. 

But the thing is, even with all of that-

This has to be perfect. Galo _wants_ this to be perfect, better than good. 

And it's not about needing to make up for being him. It's not about proving to Lio that he is worthy of the attention he gets. That's not why this needs to be perfect. Galo is sure that is not it. 

No, it needs to be perfect because it's Lio. 

Because Lio has never had anything. Because this first winter after the end of the world has been _rough_. 

Galo fumbles the instructions sheet back up into a numb fist, the cold making his fingers clumsy. He scans through the lines and diagrams and tries to picture it in his head. This shouldn't be so hard. Putting together a do-it-yourself greenhouse should not be so hard. There are instructions. There are pictures! Between the three of them, they should be able to figure this out! 

"And you're sure the boss didn't hear us?" Gueira asks again, shifting his weight from foot to foot. His shoulders are drawn up high against the cold. 

"He was in the shower when we came up the fire escape, guy," says Meis blandly. "Galo said so like five times." 

Gueira balks. "I know!! I'm just checkin'!" 

"How're you such a nervous nelly these days?" 

"Rude fucker," says Gueira, raising a fist in a gesture like he is flipping Meis off but doesn't raise any fingers. "I can't make myself a giant fucking fire beast anymore, that's why." 

"You need Miami to build a greenhouse? Dude." 

Galo tries very hard to focus on the instructions. He can read this. They have it half done. There is just the one step holding them up. 

Gueira groans, a growl in his throat. " _No_ , but it'd be _nice_!" 

"Guy, that's fucking-" 

"Lio's gone by now, come with me inside for a sec," Galo interrupts, cutting Meis off. He shakes the instruction leaflet. "Come on."

It stops whatever argument they're setting up. Galo glances between them, eyebrows raised expectantly. 

There's a moment where it looks like they want to fight him. Breath fogs the air around them on the rooftop. Eventually, Gueira grumbles under his breath but otherwise doesn't protest. He scuffs a foot on the concrete and wanders over, like if he ends up at the fire escape it was entirely on accident and not because Galo said anything. With a snort, Meis slinks after them, hands shoved deep in his pockets. 

Galo gives the half-built greenhouse one last forlorn look. It is not exceptionally big; the doorway is just tall enough for Galo to fit through without ducking. The roof and several panels are still missing, but Galo can see it complete in front of him. 

In his head, the sun catches on the glass panels and blurs through. A few wooden tables - secondhand, probably - boast large pots overflowing with green. Lio's there, relaxed and comfortable, blond bob pulled half up into a ponytail. He has fresh vegetables to spare, so he can give them away. But he has something to call his, something he can take care of and fuss over, something that helps him and lets him help others. 

So it _has_ to be perfect. For Lio. 

"Yo, spiky," calls Gueira, rough-edged. "You takin' us in or not?" 

"Oh, shit," Galo says. 

He spins on his heel, patting his pockets to confirm the instructions are there until he remembers they are in his hands. Meis and Gueira frame the fire escape, still on the roof; they haven't taken the ladder yet. Galo offers a sheepish grin, stuffs the instructions in his coat pocket, and clambers down to the first flat with numb hands. 

"Y'guys good to get down?" Galo asks, head tilted up. 

"Probably," Meis says. "Guy, you go first." 

Gueira just sighs and makes his way down. Some of his movements are jerky and stiff, flinches obvious even with all the layers. Galo stands close underneath him to spot, arms out and ready in case he falls or missteps. 

But he's fine; Gueira's boots thud on the metal landing, and he shoves his hands into his armpits. "Motherfucker, I need gloves," he hisses. 

"'m comin' down," Meis says, not moving. 

"Go for it!" 

Meis is not quite as awkward. Galo can't help but notice. Meis is slower and more cautious, and keeps ducking his head to try and see where his feet are. He steps down from the last rung like he doesn't know how far down the landing is, but he copies Gueira's pose with a snarl when his hands are free. 

"Metal ladders were a shit idea," Meis grumbles. He kicks at it once with a clang. 

"It's just stairs now, so come on," Galo says, poised at the top of the first flight down. 

Galo leads, careful of ice. He can hear them follow behind him. The winter-cold metal under their feet creaks and aches noisily as they climb down several levels. The trek is otherwise quiet, but there's a tension thick like a fog between them. Galo feels his heart in his chest, but he can ignore it, get everyone inside. 

It's funny. Lio sharpens after too long in the cold too. It's memories and fears and sensations condensed into claws, and Galo gets it. He knows Gueira and Meis are doing the same thing and maybe don't recognize it, tempers high and shredded. Usually, their bickering is backed up with grins and sly glances; this was not that. This was building aggression. They need to warm up instead of cool off. 

Galo snorts. He's funny. 

On the landing to their apartment, Galo presses his face to the window, hands at the sides of his head to see better. No immediate sign of Lio. The apartment is dark beyond what gray sunlight yawns in. He throws a thumbs up behind him. 

"All clear, dudes," says Galo. He hauls open the window and ducks in. 

The change in temperature is instantaneous. The space is warm, almost hot against his face where the wind burned blood vessels to the surface. Galo rubs his numb hands together to work feeling back into them, blows breath in the space between them. He didn't think he was that cold, but that's the trick of it, isn't it?

He takes a few steps in to make space, not standing right in front of the window. When he can register anything beyond _warm_ , coffee and something faintly floral flirt past his nose. 

It smells like Lio, just missing the woodsmoke. 

"Lio, you here?" Galo calls. 

Resounding silence from inside the apartment. Because Lio's gone! He's not here. 

But Gueira freezes halfway through the window, eyes wide. "Dude, what the fuck," he hisses.

Meis fits his face in a gap to make himself audible. "You're gonna give us away." 

"Guys, he's literally not here," Galo says. He waves a hand. "Come on, get in. It's cold out there!" 

"No shit." 

Fumbling the rest of the way, Gueira brushes himself off and shivers one big shudder like a bird; Galo almost expects him to fluff up. Instead, he stuffs his arms across his chest. The cold is red splashed across his face. He hovers by the window while Meis climbs in. 

"You got it?" Gueira asks. 

"Yeah, just- don't lemme fall on my ass." 

"I've done that a few times," says Galo. "They shoulda just made it a door. Why make people climb through a window?" 

"Stairwells are better," Meis grunts. He lands a little hard on his feet, steadies himself on Gueira. "So what're we doin', Galo." 

"Warmin' up!" 

"I mean, yeah," Meis says. 

Gueira shoves the window down with visible effort, rubs his wrists like they're sore from it. "You're not gettin' us back out there, though," he says. 

Galo gestures deeper into the apartment. "Just get in here! We got blankets, hot drinks, whatever." 

//

Galo flicks the oven light on to peer in. They had to get a new oven recently - something bugged in the wiring and the old one stopped turning on - and he is still figuring out the timing for it. That first week, everything they put in there came out either half charred or undercooked. Galo is determined to _not_ burn these pizza bagels. 

And so far they look okay! No burning here. The cheese looks bubbly and good. Galo bumps a fist against the cabinet in triumph. 

He stands up from his squat with a bounce, turns to lean over the counter facing into the den. "We're lookin' good so far!" he says. 

With a mouthful of hot chocolate, Gueira just offers a thumbs up from over Meis. Meis blinks away from the TV, playing a show Galo can't recognize from here, and looks between Gueira and Galo. 

"Food ready?" he asks. 

"Still, uhh," Galo twists to look at the timer, "like five minutes. It's not burnt!" 

"Man, I like burnt. It's crispy," Meis says. 

"Disgusting," says Gueira, exchanging another thumbs up with Galo in agreement. "Maybe it's crunchy but it just tastes like charcoal." 

"Okay, but you like warm juice, which is also disgusting." 

"Galo, Galo," Gueira says. He holds a hand in front of Meis's face. "What-" 

"I'm gonna lick your hand," Meis interrupts. 

"Dude, shut up. Galo, what's worse, _room temperature_ \- not warm! - juice, or _watered down_ juice?" 

"It's warm juice," Meis says with a very serious look. He swats Gueira's hand away. 

Galo hums thoughtfully, straightens up from his lean to properly consider the idea. He taps a foot. "I mean, what kind of juice is it?" 

"Any kind." 

"Hmm... First off, juice pouches are the only good juice. And watered down is worse, but specifically in the case of, like, juices you can't see through. If you can see through it, it's basically water anyway, so who cares?" 

"Meis puts water in his orange juice," Gueira says. 

"It's too sour!" 

"That's true," Galo says, "but that's when you just don't drink it." 

Meis scoffs. "If you're a quitter, maybe." 

"Is that why you eat coal?" Gueira asks with a grin. 

Oh, shit. Pizza bagels. Galo needs to check those. He spins on his heels and crouches down.

"Exactly. But I'm just waiting for the day you microwave some cranberry juice, fucker." 

Galo squints through the window. No casualties. Well, maybe two in the back left look a little browner than the others, but that is decidedly not a big deal. They're probably done anyway. He hauls himself to his feet again, pushes off the timer, and fumbles an oven glove on. The baking sheet clatters on the stovetop. Galo nudges the bagels around with the backs of a few gloved knuckles to make sure they haven't stuck, then shucks off the glove. 

"You guys cool with one big plate?" Galo asks. 

"Works for me," Gueira says. "Meis is absorbed again. He's cool with it." 

"Awesome," says Galo. He grabs a plate from the dishrack, fumbles up bagels one at a time and tries not to burn his fingers. "Food in a sec then." 

"Huh? Cool with what?" 

"How messy your bun is." 

"Hey, if you wanna fix it, go for it," Meis says. 

Plate in hand, Galo pads over to join them on the couch. Meis is turned mostly away from him, seemingly unaware Galo is there. 

"Definitely don't have enough fingers for that," Gueira says, nodding briefly at Galo. "You gotta move over though." 

"Why?" 

"Well, for one, Galo's got lunch behind you." 

"Oh, fuck," Meis says. He shifts closer to Gueira. "Sorry, dude." 

"No worries! Here, take the plate. Dig in," says Galo 

The sofa is just barely big enough for the three of them. Meis in the middle holds the plate balanced on his knees. The TV plays - something. even looking at it, Galo is not entirely sure what is going on with no context. He takes a thoughtful bite out of a pizza bagel and exhales the heat around it. It looks like people in the woods? Who knows. 

But it's simple and easy and familiar. They've done this before, plenty of times. Usually Lio is involved and there is no secret greenhouse building, but the point stands. The silence beyond the TV is comfortable. 

Galo feels light. It's a quiet feeling, an ache behind his sternum like the warmth off a fire. He leans back into the couch and hums. 

//

They get the greenhouse done. 

It takes longer than it probably should have, falling down a few rabbitholes of DIY videos, but they get it done. Galo waves Gueira and Meis off onto the bus, and heads back up to an empty apartment, feeling- good. Pleasantly fuzzy. 

It's always nice to see his friends. He'll see them later; they'll be over once the sun sets for new year's eve. For now, all he has to do is clean up. 

And it's weird, Galo thinks, soapy up to his wrists in the sink as he scrubs out the saucepan from last night. It's weird, life these days. He has friends. He has a _boyfriend_. Maybe it's good. It's definitely different than before, because Galo feels good a solid portion of the time. The world ended eight months ago, and Galo feels better for it. 

That's pretty weird. 

It works. But it is weird. He and Lio have a routine, as much as they can have with the odd hours of Burning Rescue. Lio still makes enough coffee for two in the morning, splashes in just the right amount of creamer in Galo's to make it not bitter. Galo keeps an extra hoodie in his bag for when Lio inevitably gets overwhelmed by the winter. They handle dinners, laundry, grocery shopping, sometimes together and sometimes not. 

And Lio smiles more. That counts for something. 

His face is lighter, usually, not hollowed and ragged. Meis and Gueira too. The years are still plain on them all, but they are nothing if not adaptive. Gueira keeps to Meis's bad side to shore him up, right eye left in the shell of the Parnassus; Meis handles things needing finer motor control than Gueira can muster with missing fingers; and the three of them commiserate over whatever connective tissue damage was shattered into them as _fuel sources_. 

But Lio smiles more. That counts for something. It doesn't erase the shit he - and millions of others - faced, but. 

It counts. It's important. 

And _that's_ why the greenhouse is important! Galo fusses over the plate from earlier, sets it in the drying rack. He wants to give Lio more to smile about, more to be happy about. 

"Hey, Galo, I'm home," comes Lio's voice, lilting across the apartment. 

Think of the devil, huh. Galo glances over the kitchen counter toward the door and there's Lio, peeling off his boots and peacoat. A black beanie slouches off the back of his blond head. 

"Hey, Lio," Galo says. "How'd it go?" 

"Pretty good, I'd think. I stuck around for longer than they needed me, but I figured I could spare the time. The kids had a blast. I think there's flour all over me." 

"Oh, d'you end up baking? That sounds fun!" 

"Burnish tradition, at least where I grew up," Lio says, padding to the kitchen. He does have flour dusted down the front of his shirt, little handprints on his pants. "It's just chocolate chip cookies, but we made them every new year's. Something small to celebrate." 

Oh, shit. Galo drops the sponge, spins around to look fully at Lio with water dripping down his hands. "Oh my God, should I have made cookies? Shit." 

Lio gives a small laugh. He pats Galo's upper arm, gestures to his backpack with the other hand. "You're fine, spiky. Me and the kids made plenty. They wouldn't let me leave without taking some home," he says, fond. 

"Good!! Those kids have some sense." 

"Thanks for the dishes, by the way," adds Lio, with a head tilt towards the sink. "We'll need some for tonight." 

"Yessir," Galo says, mock saluting. Water dribbles down his forehead. "Son of a bitch." 

"That's what you call me for bringing home dessert?" 

"Oh my God, Lio, I meant the water, not you!" 

Lio laughs, a soft sound but bright and happy. He thuds a loose fist against Galo's shoulder. "I'm just playing with you, dude. I know."

//

The bathroom light melts like butter. The air is soft and sweet, calmer than the buzz in the rest of the apartment. Galo leans his elbows on the cool counter, holds his hands under the faucet as it bubbles. He watches the water fill up the curl of his palms and tumble over. Focuses on the drag of muscle over ribs as he pulls in air, breathes out. 

He just needs a minute. 

Just a minute. 

His friends are good! They are wonderful and great. Galo closes his eyes. His forehead touches his forearms. His friends are great, but sometimes something in him just retreats back in and making his face into the right expressions and his voice the right tone strains and can never quite make up the difference. He needs a minute to himself, not quite soul-searching but. 

Enough to recharge, rebuild, rekindle. 

The bathroom is a good place for it. No one is going to bother him here. 

He can hear Meis regaling some kind of story, probably, by the dramatic rise and fall of his muffled voice. The words are faded, take too much effort to parse out so he doesn't. He focuses on the feel of his hands in the water and his head on his arms. 

He feels good otherwise, he thinks. It's been a good day. It's been a good night. Plenty of snacks and mini dishes to avoid the heft of a single solid meal, games they got a little too into, Lio's paranormal shows on in the background. It will be midnight soon, and then it will be a whole new year, officially. Even if this year has been split in two, a schism infernoed in the summer, this is the new year. 

That feels a little cheap. They should change it. 

There's a dull knock on the door. "Galo?" 

That's Lio. Lio's voice. Galo lifts his head; a few stray strands of wet hair cling to his forehead. "Huh? You can come in," he says. 

The doorknob twists and then there's Lio, Lio, Lio. His blond hair is messy and down, fringe brushing above pink eyes. Life burns in his face, in the few rogue freckles starting to jump across his cheekbones, in the brightness in his skin. He's relaxed in a black turtleneck and shiny dark leggings. He doesn't click the door shut behind himself before walking up to the counter and leaning back against it. 

"Gonna make it to midnight?" Lio asks, not looking at him. 

"Duh, I'm no quitter," says Galo. He turns his hands under the water. "Just, you know. Needed a break." 

"Overstimulated?" 

Galo lets out a puff of air shaped like a laugh. "Yeah. You remembered." 

"Of course," Lio says. His voice is always so soft. He pushes off of the counter, stands in the half-open doorway. "I just wanted to check on you. Meis is getting the champagne ready. Did you want some?" 

"Champagne?" 

"Yeah." 

"Sure. It's the new year," says Galo. 

"Alright. I'll let them know." 

And the door clicks shut again. The sounds from the TV, from his friends are still audible but indistinguishable, fuzzy and vague. Galo smiles, more than he could have before these few minutes alone. Lio cares about him. Lio wanted to make sure he was okay. Because Lio _cares_ so much about everything and everyone. 

Galo splashes a palmful of lukewarm water on his face, holds his hands there and just breathes. He feels better. That tangled knot in his chest is looser, the threads themselves neatened up and less frayed. There's no baseless anger worked into his jaw, the muscles in his throat; he's not going to snap. He wants to spend time with his friends, wants to have fun.

Galo turns off the faucet. He scrubs his hands dry on the towel slung over the shower railing. He practices a few wry smiles in the mirror, pushes his mohawk this way and that until it settles properly. 

That's better. He's okay. Things are good. He flicks off the light, twists open the door, and walks out. 

"Yo, dude," says Gueira, pointing towards the kitchen from their seat on the couch, "your glass is over there." 

"Thanks, man," Galo says. 

"Can you bring in that shitty cannoli dip too?" Meis asks, nestled against Gueira's side under his arm. 

"Sure." 

"I thought you had a headache," Lio says. 

"Who, me? Maybe," Meis says. 

Lio nudges Meis's knee with a foot. "Don't eat sugar then." 

"Pretty sure it's cheese," Gueira says. 

"I don't think cannoli dip is cheese?" says Galo, champagne in one hand and plastic container in the other. He sets it down on the coffee table and takes a seat on the side chair. "Although what's in regular cannolis?" 

"No," Gueira says, "you're not supposed to eat cheese with a headache." 

"Really?" 

"'m gonna eat this shit anyway," Meis announces, sitting up. 

Galo snorts. The TV is still playing some paranormal show, screen a muddy mess of night-vision greens and blacks, but it's quieter now. There's subtitles, which help when the three next to him bicker like hens; something about stone tape theory, which apparently has to do with ghosts, maybe. He just holds the champagne glass balanced on his thigh and watches. The end of this will probably signal midnight. 

Which means it's almost time for Lio's present. 

Shit. 

He has to get everyone to the roof. 

"Hey, you guys wanna go up to the roof?" Galo asks. 

"Huh?" Meis says. 

"Galo, it's freezing," says Lio. 

"Oh, but fireworks," Gueira says. He jostles Meis with a pointed look. "We should go at least for the fireworks." 

"Right, fireworks!" 

"Just for a few minutes!" Galo insists, standing up. The champagne in his glass sloshes dangerously. "You guys gotta see the fireworks." 

"C'mon, boss!" 

Lio sighs through a fond smile. He aims a halfhearted kick at Meis's legs again, and stands up. "Let me get a coat," he says. 

"Woo!" Gueira cheers. He holds a fist out to Galo. 

Galo grins, bumps his knuckles against it. It's nice! Working together. Because that's what this is, really. Subtle teamwork for the sake of something silly but important nonetheless. All those ridiculous, pointless little moments like matchsticks, like kindling. 

Everyone sets down their glasses to get bundled up, and Galo can't help but smile to himself, pulling a thick hoodie on over his head. This isn't like work. Yeah, Burning Rescue is a team, but it only extends as far as the fire. They don't want to talk about if watering down juice is okay, or about the history of firefighting, or about a TV show rambling about interdimensional phantom trucks. They work, they eat, they go home. and that's one way to be a team but- 

Galo wanted to be friends. 

Wanted to share, and hear about them, and do things together, and whatever else comes up. And he can now! He has friends. They help him build secret greenhouses for other friends because they want to be involved and be happy. 

"Big guy," says Meis, nudging his shoulder. "Tell me you're wearin' more than a hoodie." 

Galo looks down at himself. Looks back up at Meis, all long dark hair and long dark coat. "We're not goin' for long?" 

"Wear an extra layer for me," Lio says. He fits a beanie back on his head. 

"Galo's tougher than all of us," Gueira says, heavy bomber jacket shrugged over his shoulders. "He knows what he's about." 

"I'll bring a blanket! How's that?" 

"As long as you keep yourself warm," says Lio, "and we can share when we all get cold." 

Galo mock salutes. "Got it, boss." He scoops up a blanket with a grin. 

"Let's go! Or we're gonna miss the fireworks," Meis says. 

"What time is it anyway?" Gueira mumbles, trailing behind Meis to the window. 

Meis hauls open the window and climbs through first. Gueira is quick after him, cursing loudly at the cold. There's a moment, standing there with Lio, that their eyes meet, and Galo feels- frozen, almost. Dazed. Lio smiles and the curl of his lips is soft. 

"Hope we're sharing that blanket," Lio says. 

"Duh," says Galo. "All part of the surprise." 

"There's a surprise?" 

Shit. "Uh..." 

"Will y'all just be gay out here?" Meis says, bent over to glare at them through the window. "We're freezin' our asses off." 

Gueira rolls his shoulders, exhales a cloud of breath. "It's not as bad as this morning, but still." 

"Sorry!" Galo says quickly. 

He clambers out onto the fire escape and into the winter. His hoodie is fortunately thick, but the chill nips through, determined. He's grateful for the blanket buffer at his chest. The first breath he pulls in is sharp. He exhales long and slow, watches the air fog and dance around him. 

Lio joins them with a few cold clangs of metal. He brushes his hands down the front of him. "All clear?" he prompts. 

"No fireworks yet," Gueira says, already picking his way up the first flight. "Must not be midnight yet." 

No, the first _crack_ rings out a flight away from the last; above the building, the sky splashes vibrant for a moment before the color fades black. It burns new life into their step, and they book it up to the ladder and up that. Sharp whistles sing into thunder, fireworks raining bright ash down. 

It's distracting enough that Lio doesn't notice the greenhouse. His face is tipped up to the sky, lips just parted. Galo shares a few knowing glances with Gueira and Meis, but the show above them feels more important. 

Fireworks at new year's aren't special. They're not. They're a boring, every-year occurrence. But there's something a little more meaningful about it now. Maybe it's just Galo, standing out in the cold with three very brave, very powerful people burdened and blessed with living flame, but announcing the new year with kaleidoscopic fire feels like a celebration and an apology and a memorial all at once. The fireworks spill warm flashes of color over the rooftop, lighting up the faces of his friends, and Galo just thinks back to the cave. That fire meant life, and protection, and safety, and comfort. He can only hope there's some of that here now. 

"What a show, huh?" Galo exhales. 

Lio tugs the blanket free from his arms and throws it over Galo's shoulders, weasels himself in next to him. "I could've done better," he says. 

"Man, we should've bought fireworks or shit!" Meis exclaims. 

"Dumbass, we look like a fireworks accident," says Gueira. "They wouldn't sell us shit. Could steal some though." 

"Sparklers woulda been cool," Galo says. 

Meis points at him. "Next year. But we got some shit this year." 

"Is this shit the surprise?" 

Galo's heart tightens in his chest. Right. He looks down at lio, tries to school his features into something not nervous. "Right, okay, so I had this idea. Gueira and Meis helped me out with it 'cause they know you pretty well, and I needed some help. It's totally cool if you don't like it, but I thought- it'd be cool, ya know?" 

"I don't know what we're talking about," Lio says. 

"Shit, right." 

"We built a greenhouse, dude!" Gueira announces with a flourish. 

"Smashed my fingers a few times," says Meis, "but it was worth it. And Galo sayin' you don't have to like it- yeah, you do." 

"Oh." 

Lio steps away. 

He walks up the greenhouse like it will disappear with the fireworks. He's impossible to read with his back to them. The greenhouse is taller than he is. The glass is frosted against the winter. He doesn't turn around. 

Galo wavers in place. Should he go over? He doesn't know what Lio thinks. He fusses with the blanket over his shoulders, turns around to ask. 

Gueira stops him with a hand on his chest. "Hey, big guy." 

Galo jumps. "Huh?" 

"The boss's gonna get real emotional in a sec," says Gueira quietly. He gestures to Lio's back. "Guaranteed. So we're gonna go back in. Make it easier on him, yeah?" 

"You think he likes it?" 

"He gets emotional at all the community gardens and shit. Yes." 

"Okay, I'll see you guys inside?" 

Gueira pats him on the shoulder. "Of course. Don't freeze out here. C'mon, Meis." 

Distantly, Galo hears the familiar creak and moan of the ladder. Fireworks still radiate overhead in clusters. 

It almost feels like intruding to approach Lio. Galo does anyway, heart in his throat. He rubs a palm back and forth over the back of his head. Lio just stands there, looking at the greenhouse. His expression is hard to make out in the shifting light. 

Lio has never had anything. Millions of others haven't either. But this is about Lio. Galo knows every second of his life, lived the whole of it crammed into maybe ten minutes. That's a lot to feel. 

But he doesn't know how Lio feels right now. 

"The guys went back inside," Galo says, for something to say. 

"Oh," says Lio. 

The sky is loud. Galo shifts his weight, fusses with his hair, and bites his tongue. Lio isn't talking. Lio has not said anything beyond _oh_. He doesn't need Galo running his mouth next to him. 

"I'm used to convenience store food," Lio says distractedly. 

Galo pauses. "Huh?" 

"We lived off of whatever shit we could find. Easier to steal junk that keeps than fresh food that spoils in a day." 

"We have fresh stuff now," Galo says. 

Lio puffs a small laugh. "Yeah, we do." 

"But you-," that feels weird. They're talking about something bigger than that. Galo hesitates, adjusts. "We didn't for a while, huh." 

"But we didn't for _so_ long. I knew if we were ever going to build a Burnish community, we couldn't live on just stolen boxed meals. But it wasn't like we could stay in one place long enough to grow anything for ourselves." 

Galo fixes the blanket over his shoulders. He fits an arm around Lio carefully, bringing him under it. Lio makes a noise like a smile. 

"The community gardens were a perfect idea. Show the Burnish how to grow their own food, share with the greater community, work together," Lio says. 

"I thought you might like a garden to yourself," says Galo. He winces. "I mean, it's yours! But I figure- I mean, I know you'll have extra stuff, so I thought- like a personal garden, but you can still share it?" 

Lio wipes the back of his wrist over his face. "Yeah. I like it," he says quietly. 

"And I can always help out if that's cool too! Not that I know shit about plants, but." 

"Of course. Thank you, Galo." 

"Of course!" 

Lio angles him a smile. It doesn't quite reach his eyes. It's a familiar one, something warm built on bittersweet. Nostalgia for the mud, in a sense; the experiences behind it too much and too isolating to detail out, enough to wish you were back in it just to be understood. He knows Lio is thinking of a hundred different things, of an empty lifetime rendered emptier by what he has now. 

Because things have changed. Things are changing. Slowly, but hopefully. Anti-Burnish factions still lobby the interim government, still hold influencing positions, but they have had to drastically change tactics to keep support. At the very least, most of the population acknowledges that, yes, Burnish are human beings, and using humans as a fuel source was fucked up. And the hotels set up as temporary housing are not bursting at the seams with occupants anymore; some of the Burnish have jobs, apartments, houses; some of them left on the off chance of better opportunity elsewhere; and some succumbed to decades of trauma and won't live to see the new year. Reconstruction is still in full swing, blithely ignoring the winter. The city as it stands is unrecognizable from Promepolis eight months ago. 

Things are changing, and it's the end of the year, and people always think about change then. It's okay. 

The sky splits overhead, a glowstick cracked in an arc of bright color. Galo watches it reflected in the glass panels of the greenhouse and turns around to watch the little sparks of flame tumble down in an audible fizzle. Something in his chest burns. 

"Remember when that was us?" Lio asks quietly. He gestures with his chin to the trails of ash. "Falling out of the sky." 

Right. 

The real new year in Galo's eyes, the start of something. Galo exhales a breath that clouds the air. The memories are hazy, more sensation than visual. Feeling Lio beside him. a conflicting sense of hot and cold, up and down turned sideways, then an impact, ringed with quiet laughing joy. 

"Sort of," says Galo. He leans his head onto Lio's. "Memory's a little foggy." 

"It was weird. I don't know how to talk about it."

"It was a robot made out of fire aliens, of course it was weird. Cool as shit, though." 

Lio snorts. "I guess you're right," he says. 

"I remember you, though," Galo says. 

A little cloud of fond breath puffs in front of Lio. But he doesn't say anything. He just leans into Galo's side like he needs it, the warmth or the contact or both. But it doesn't last long; Lio draws himself away. His eyes are impossibly soft when they meet Galo's. 

"Why me?" Lio asks, barely audible over the fireworks. 

"You know..." Galo trails off. 

He can feel Lio beside him, the winter cold around them both but a warmth there, somehow, between blankets and coats and that feeling in his chest. It's dizzying, almost. Above them both, a firework whistles and snaps with a bang. Galo laughs bashfully, embarrassed. 

"I dunno. Just- you're you. That counts for something, right?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to everyone who read, liked, and/or commented !! i don't post much fic, and it's wonderful to see people like my work <33 i have a few possible ideas for additional fics ! keep an eye out if you've liked my writing

**Author's Note:**

> if something that technically should be capitalized is not capitalized (ie names, beginnings of sentences, whatever) that's because i don't capitalize shit. messes up my flow


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